Dark Nights
by It's Just That
Summary: [AU!HPTR] In a world where Tom Marvolo Riddle was young, he gave hope to light but ushered darkness. In a world where Harry Potter had died in the Last Battle, his body was never found. Harry finds himself suddenly in..another universe? SLASH Ch.4isratedM
1. T is for the Time it took to get here

_**DISCLAIM IT: **_I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does, damnit

* * *

_There was once a little boy, _

_With a scar upon the bridge of his brow. _

_He laughed, he cried, _

_He experienced things that none knew how. _

_What was one death to another— _

_Piled upon each other? _

_As things went around, _

_Spinning before his glowering gaze? _

_Through the thick thoughts that hazed, _

_Instead of reflecting throughout, _

_He was thoughtless, _

_As he died. _

_And regardless _

_He knew he was just a toy._

* * *

(Yeah, horrible, but there is a certain rhyme to it. Plus, it actually sort of describes the final battle! Just skip the horrible poem I made up at the top of my head, if you want. I won't be _that _insulted. ;d) 

Title: Dark Nights

Summary: In a world where Tom Marvolo Riddle was young, he gave hope to light but ushered darkness. In a world where Harry Potter had died in the Last Battle, his body was never found. In that world, there were tales of Tom, once having a lover, who was then lost to him from a magical malady. And unsurprisingly, Harry Potter was that man.

…In a nutshell, Harry speculated that since light cannot live without darkness, his soul was sent to an alternate universe set in Voldemort's seventh year—a universe in which he had supposedly found the elixir to eternal-youth. How will Harry cope with his new situation? How will Harry behave, seeing the man who had killed his parents? And what was this stirring feeling he had with Tom? What of the other students at Hogwarts?

FIND OUT! By reading this story. xD

Warnings: AU! HPTR, non-con, possible Dark!Twisted!Harry. Disregards HBP and OoTP! So bewareeeee. Of course, I want to add Eileen Prince, so bwhahaha. x3

A/N: After seeing that this pairing had so little love on ffnet, I decided to write one—hey, all authors should try and write HPTR. See where it takes them. ;)

Overall rating: _High R (_is there even such a thing?

Chapter rating: T

Pairing: HPTR

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Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was an unquestionably eccentric wizard—and his office and attire often reflected that. Once in awhile, when the old codger had the sudden urge to feel a little younger, and a little different he'd have all the portraits of past Headmasters rearranged. Imagine their chagrin: Phineas Black had cursed Dumbledore and his nutty ways for days.

Most times one could find Albus having Tea with the Gray Lady, talking amicably to her about foreign customs and politics. Seeing as though she herself was born in an altogether different era and country (she was from Australia) made it even better! Albus always made sure to add an extra lump of sugar for her—that and a courteous bow of reverence, which she gladly returned with a curtsey.

Where these tea parties took place was another matter; though Albus knew better, he still invited anyone with half a mind to listen to an old man's ramblings—to his office.

As one perused the chambers, many bookshelves, naturally filled to the brim with ancient books and artifacts lined the marble walls. In a particularly dusty shelf, (Albus had forgotten he had a forget-me-not spell on it), was the hand of an Ancient Mummy. Quite rare, and quite expensive, Albus had bought it from a traveling Arabian peddler, eager to be rid of his goods.

"Ninety galleons, no less," spoke the peddler that day. Albus had of course tried to haggle the price down, but the peddler remained adamant.

"Ninety galleons or no deal," he had repeated. And thus, Albus bought it—although not without a great deal of grumbling and complaining.

_"Can't even get an elderly discount...how miserly!" _The peddler just smiled.

And if this artifact had indeed, human tendencies, it would have preened under a boy's stare. _Why?_—one must wonder? Well, that is because that _boy _was none other than the resident Boy Wonder, come out of his way to visit an old friend.

Said boy—regardless of how dangerous the baubles lining the shelves were—prodded each and every one of them. Gryffindor tendency to jump into things with no thought beforehand was all. Harry's fondness to get into trouble without really meaning to, somehow _always_ landed him a detention and a clap to his wrist. If he were honest to himself, he'd realize what a bad habit that was and fix it. And everyone _knows_ that bad habits ended up in death!

Now Harry Potter, at this moment was confused. He hadn't any clue why he had appeared in the Headmaster's office (last he remembered he was shooting a dark spell at Voldemort), and he really, just really wanted to sit down. With that thought in mind, he sagged onto a nearby bookshelf, nearly knocking off a highly esteemed eyeball from a Quintaped. Undoubtedly rare and expensive stuff. But he didn't really care. His head throbbed. _Throbbed, throbbed, throbbed. _Did he mention that it hurt, too?

Harry righted himself, snapping his spine back in place. Now was not the time to act like a bumbling fool! It was time for action and—he sagged again, just as the throbbing increased. "Oww," he said, and placed a hand over his face to muffle his groan. Where was the last battle? And where the bleeding socks were Moldywart and his minions?

He grappled for a hold on the shelf and righted himself once more. First thing was first: discover why he was back in Professor Dumbledore's office. He stumbled quite a bit initially, but he eventually got used to bumping into a wall or two. Really, the bruises on his shoulders from the impact were nothing!

"Oww, oww, oww," Harry said again, eyes squinting from the pain. "I feel like a big bruise, with another bruise on top of the first—owwww! Stupid mummy hand!" _How odd,_ he thought and peered back at the shelf. _Where_ is_ that ancient hand?_ He swore it was there a second ago. "Seems as though I've misplaced you," Harry mumbled dazedly.

"You don't say," said an amused voice behind him. Whirling around, Harry was confronted with—

"Armando Dippet?!" Harry let out a strangled sound. How… What? Where? He had recognized the gray haired wizard, primarily because he was usually seen conversing quietly to Dumbledore. Come to think of it, asides from Phineas Black, there were only two Headmasters that _ever _talked to Dumbledore. Now that was an odd thought.

"Yes, my boy?" said Armando in a chipper tone, firmly pushing his huge spectacles over his nose. "Do you need something?"

Harry sputtered. "W-why would I need anything?" he said, and backed into another shelf, a book uncomfortably jabbing into his hip.

"Because you're in my office, of course!" Armando beamed, but then his jubilant expression vanished a second later. "Unless it doesn't look like my office?" he queried in a disappointed tone.

Harry stared. "Well uh—it does look like your office, _sir_," he said, emphasizing the last word. This could be some sort of hallucination played by the Death Eaters, or a deranged dream of some sort. The latter sounded more plausible than the former. The Boy Wonder continued, "But it reminds me of a… very close friend's own. He liked very much to keep his office—err, _used_."

"Oh really?" Armando beamed again. "We must have similar tastes then! Care to share a lemon tart while telling me of this man?"

Harry almost laughed, if his ribs didn't hurt so much. "Yes," he said finally, "you really do have similar traits." So that was where Dumbledore had gotten his sugar fixation from: Armando Dippet. Who would have seen that coming?

Armando looked thoughtful, as he let his gaze travel down to the bruised boy before him. "I've just noticed lad," he said, "that asides from you not answering about the lemon tart—I've never actually seen your face here in Hogwarts until today!" The hair on Harry's neck jumped. _Oh shit, oh shit-- _ "Are you a new student come to get an interview?" he went on to ask. Harry stopped panicking. He could see how truly curious the old man was, and he didn't feel the distinct urge to lie. Lying was bad. Lying equaled undoubtedly bad—very bad and unfair consequences.

Harry's smile was strained. "No, not really sir." He decided that honesty was the best policy, so he began his tale. "I'm from the future sir."

"…Pardon?" Armando conjured a chair, and sat on it, once again pushing his glasses up his nose. He motioned for Harry to continue, and the boy did so, without any inflection on his part.

"I'm from the future sir," Harry said again, "and if I'm right," he cast a quick tempus charm, "it's 1943. I'm precisely fifty-five years three hours and ten seconds from the future."

"It seems sort of odd, telling this to me," said Armando thoughtfully, lips taking a downturn. "Wouldn't it be better if you had lied to me? For how would one gauge that my actions were sincere?" He looked genuinely baffled, and for the first time since he had found himself in Dumbledore's office—Harry felt comforted. Here was a great man, one of Hogwarts's past Headmasters, asking his opinion on a matter that didn't really need much thinking. From the start of his explanation, he had already sounded like a loony. What more was there to think about asides from shipping Harry off to the St. Mungo's?

"I don't know, sir—"

"Call me Professor Dippet." The old man interrupted with an indulgent smile.

Harry mustered a small, tired chuckle. "All right sir—I mean, Professor Dippet," he said. "I don't know why I did it. I just knew that you were being honest in your actions by your curiosity. And isn't curiosity an honest emotion, sir?"

Armando laughed. "Well so it is! And if I wouldn't know any better, you've just passed the interview!"

"I—what?"

"In any case, since you're going to be a student here at Hogwarts, you need all the 'credentials'—which you probably already have, seeing as though you're wearing Gryffindor robes. And just for your information," he waved a hand, "I'm not going to ask you about your time, and I will not go out of my way to question you about _your_ past. Although one thing is for certain," Armando's brown eyes then glittered strangely in the torch light, "you're going to have to tell me your name."

"My name," Harry echoed blandly.

"Yes your name, my boy."

"It's…" Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "Harry Potter." He expected a startled glance, or maybe even a gasp, but Harry wasn't really disappointed when all the elderly wizard could do was blink. He really was getting used to being a nobody already.

"My, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Armando's eyes crinkled as he said, "And I suppose that means I'll have to provide you for everything, lad. Well then—" he clapped his hands twice, and instantly, a list of Hogwarts supplies for sixth year appeared. He levitated the list to Harry, who felt too dizzy at all to actually walk, and informed him that on the morrow, they'd have a visit to Diagon Alley.

"Best get enough sleep, Harry boy," replied the Headmaster cheerfully, giving Harry a playful wink. He then ushered Harry to the rooms, located down a long, winding staircase. It seemed like a shortcut to the Dungeons. When they had finally reached a door, Armando had pushed him in, not bothering to close the door.

Harry, not one to complain about how drab the chambers were, quickly staggered to a large, unoccupied bed and passed out.

As he ascended the stairway, Armando sighed, worry etched onto his aged face. "M'boy, you may not be able to get back to your own time after all." And with that, he closed the doors to his office.

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Unfamiliar voices buzzed around his ears.

"Hey Abraxas, who do you think this is?" a low baritone asked.

"I don't know, Alphard. He seems like a transfer student," answered a soft tenor.

"Interesting development. Think Riddle would want to know it?"

"Perhaps," the second voice said faintly. "Or perhaps not. You know he does not like to be disturbed so early in the morning."

"I suppose," said the first voice dubiously. "We'll just leave him here for now. I'll question him later after my free period, if he's still in bed. Well I suppose we should go now, then Abraxas. We shouldn't tarry lest we'd be late for breakfast."

"You mean you don't want to miss seeing Emmeline," teased the second, voice fading to a gradual echo.

Soft footsteps signaled that the two had left, and Harry stirred, cracking a bleary eye open. He stifled his growl of annoyance as rays of magical sunlight hit his face. Why it was charmed that way in this room, was a mystery even to him. In the Gryffindor Tower, they had always an abundance of real sunlight.

He yawned into his pillow, privately whining in his head. He hated mornings. In fact, morning came too fast for him. If only night lasted fourteen more hours, then he'd be more willing to take the blasted cheery sunshine on. He rolled over, and instead, found himself on the floor, legs twisted in the forest green comforter.

"Owww—not more bruises!" he said, and rubbed his lower back. Harry really didn't want to get up now.

Polka dotted shoes met his eyes.

"Mister Potter?"

Harry grunted, hearing the recognizable voice speak. "I'm over here," he motioned with a weak wave of his hand.

"So I see," came Dumbledore's amused reply. He was dressed in deep green robes, clashing horribly with the orange sash tied around his waist. A dozen sparkly stars weaved in and out of his long graying hair, and Harry resisted the urge to wince. Whoever did his robes deserved a good, hard bitch slap from Harry. It was _way _too early to see something so utterly outlandish.

He didn't bother to cover his grimace.

"Care to help a poor student up?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"It would be my pleasure, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said.

"Just call me Harry, sir," he sighed, hoisting himself up with Dumbledore's extended hand. He brushed the dirt off his robes and offered a smile. "Mister Potter makes me sound old."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Of course then, Harry. I'm Professor Albus Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher."

"I know," said Harry thoughtlessly, before slapping a hand over his mouth. Sheepish, he laughed nervously and covered his mistake up by saying, "Well, Professor Dippet told me."

"Hum, that's strange," said Dumbledore, but did not question. He patted Harry's head and beamed. "Shall we get to Diagon Alley then?"

Harry gave the old man a sharp look, surprising him. "Firstly, has Dippet informed you of my situation?" he said.

"Yes, he has unfortunately," said Dumbledore, turning serious. "He had also told me to ask you to change your name for a short time—granted that you know what you are getting yourself into?"

"That thought has merit," muttered Harry, never really thinking of changing his name. While it was true that using Harold James Potter as a name suited him, it just didn't really fit in this time period. And so he contemplated.

It seemed as if his brain wasn't quite catching up to his body yet.

"I'll think about it later," Harry said to Dumbledore, as they walked out of Hogwarts's wards. They bypassed the Forbidden Forest and countless meadows, until Dumbledore abruptly shot an arm out to stop Harry in his tracks.

"This is the end of our walk, I'm afraid. Now grab a hold of my arm, m'boy, this is going to be quite a bumpy ride." Dumbledore smiled warmly, half-moon glasses casting a blinding glare in Harry's eyes. Harry closed his eyes and heaved a dramatic breath.

"I hate apparating," he grumbled, but did as he was told. He gripped Dumbledore's dark green sleeve tightly. Soon he felt the instinctive feeling of his body being torn to bits, then being put together in a short span of time. When the spinning stopped, Harry groaned, tempted to buckle down to his knees. Boy, that dizzy sensation from yesterday was coming back with a vengeance!

"I really, _really _hate apparating," Harry said, after regaining his composure a moment later. Dumbledore only smiled and moved towards Flourish and Blotts, his brisk pace causing Harry to jog to catch up to him. For an old, hobbling man, Dumbledore was quite fast with his feet. As they passed Eeylops Emporium, Harry stumbled on a loose stone, but caught himself in time from faulting face first into the dirty street. He groaned. All this exertion made him want to crawl back in bed and sleep the day away, if only to get a clutch on his reality. Honestly, Harry had yet to come to terms with his situation.

"Tired, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, an eyebrow arched, still ambling quickly to their first destination, Flourish and Blotts.

Harry snorted. "Tired isn't the half of what I'm feeling right now, Professor," he answered back.

"That I'm sure of," Dumbledore replied, laughter evident in his voice.

Together they entered Flourish and Blotts, and greeted the owner.

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It was very musky here, Harry decided, while wrinkling his nose. Dust was everywhere inside the apothecary in Knockturn Alley (Dumbledore had insisted on going here), and there were even a few choice cobwebs wedged between the much older _chipped _potion vials. Harry somehow found himself stepping on a dirty floor pot. He lifted his shoe, then shook the black slime off in disgust. Good thing that the potion he treaded on was just a simple magical insecticide, or else he would have been seriously injured.

"Harry, stay here for a bit while I go find the things you need," was all Dumbledore had said, before rushing to the other side of the dank store. Harry shrugged. Well, it beat staying in a pot of magical bug-away any day.

He perused the shelves, reading each and every one of the labels. He began reading from left to right.

_**Amortentia**__ – Extremely potent love potion. Note: do make sure not to breathe in the scent of Amortentia yourself—leave the potion in lukewarm water before adding a lock of your hair and pouring it in your heart's desire's cup. Never put near a gust of breeze or window. 110 galleons and 16 sickles._

_**Vertonosim et Lia**__ – Sleeping potion; causes ten to eighteen years of slumber, never aging the drinker. The older the potion is, the more potent. This potion is currently five-hundred and thirty six years old. To determine length of sleep, 6x-976(n-156)/356, x being the age of the potion and n being the age of the drinker. Currently, this potion will put drinker to sleep for approximately one hundred fifty years, five months, and six hours. 99 galleons 5 sickles and 15 knuts._

_**Oblivius Molto Tout**__ – Forget-everything-much potion; causes the same symptoms of 'Obliviate', but to a higher degree. Discretion in use and distribution of this potion is varied in many countries. England, only select apothecaries sell this potion. In America, it is considered extremely rare. In Middle-east and Asian countries, only witch-doctors know how to brew this potion, and often, most of them are killed by other witch-doctors for power. Currently 330 galleons._

_**Malicion Exosso**__ – Bone-melting, acidic potion to all races (this includes Vampires, Werewolves, Veelas, Harpies, and Dementors). Used only in dire situations, or potion will turn a clear liquid and end up as sugar water. __**PRICE NEGOTIABLE**_

_Now I want that potion_, Harry thought, staring at the liquid green bottle of an 'undeniably happiness' potion. Too bad the side effects were insomnia and inability to stay in one place for more than fifteen minutes.

As Harry was eyeing the vials of potions lining the tables of the apothecary, Dumbledore was busy haggling down the price of his cauldron, set of sixth year potions (how Dippet knew he was sixth year was beyond Harry's comprehension), dragonhide gloves, boots, and magical tinted glasses worn only during Potions. What made Harry wonder was why he needed the boots? However, he thought it best not to pry. Besides, if Dumbledore wanted him to know, the old coot would have told him.

"Not going to ask me why I bought you dragonhide boots?" Dumbledore queried, after wrangling the price down to fifteen galleons. The owner grumbled, while handing the elderly wizard his change, but all he got in return from Dumbledore was a small grin.

Harry just shook his head. He then settled near the counter and gave the suspicious owner of the Apothecary a nod, alleviating the man of any shoplifting tendencies he might have had.

The sable-haired boy shrugged.

"Yeah, I want to ask," Harry said. "But then again, I really don't want to know."

"Oh but you must!" Dumbledore's eyes began to twinkle madly. "In this day and age, Hogwarts has yet to make an appropriate school uniform—designed robes and cloaks, yes! But not the clothes most likely to be seen when flapping your robes and cloaks about as one runs! You need a whole new wardrobe m'boy, and this is just the start of it!"

Harry refused to curse at Dumbledore, so he settled for a long, _deep, _smoldering glare. He hoped that it singed Dumbledore's huge eyebrows off.

"You are _so _not choosing my wardrobe," said Harry, resolute.

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"No wait—not that! OWW!"

"Stop moving, young sir!"

"Well if you stopped poking me with those horrible needles—eeeeeowww! Not the bruise! Watch it, you old maid!"

"I'll teach you old maid, you insolent brat!"

"You there—yes, you, you blithering idiot, come here and help me with this boy!"

Harry had a hard time trying to cope with the fact that an old woman was currently prodding him in places that _no one _had ever before. It made him sick and yes, slightly flustered. His cheeks tinged as the old woman had called one of her more '_attractive'_ male assistants to help her. Horrible woman she was.

Although, if Harry were honest, the man was quite a looker, if his bizarre teal colored eyes were any indication of his obvious magical creature heritage. Harry guessed the man was a vampire.

The assistant moved with swift grace to Harry, and when his boss wasn't looking—ran an appraising hand down Harry's crotch. Harry stiffened, and quickly shied away from the man's wandering hands.

"Do those pants fit him, dear?" the old woman's voice became her sweet and tranquil tone, rather than the harsher, more unforgiving one she used on Harry.

Anastasius—from what Harry could squint out on the nametag (Dumbly-dore had took his glasses)—smirked.

"I'd say these pants suit him quite well," the man replied, before moving to actually _size _Harry's arms and legs. He let out a sigh of relief.

"Get him the regular stack of white polo shirt and undershirts," Anastasius called out. "Get a velvet dress robe designed by Madame La Blanche—"

"—The one with the stiff neck collar and silver lining?" a meek voice interrupted.

"Yes, yes, that one. Put it on the table, he's definitely getting that one," Anastasius said, and held an ordinary blue shirt to Harry's frame. "Hmm, not bad, but we'll need a darker shade on you to keep you looking the mysterious debonair." The striking man then threw the shirt to a discarded pile nearby and shouted, "Pull out dark blue shirts, the standard black slacks and as many gaudy pants with chains as you can find!"

Harry wasn't sure to be glad that Dumbledore wasn't doing his wardrobe, because this man seemed enthusiastically choosing clothes and fashion, regardless of how comfortable it was. At least Dumbledore had comfortable ducky pants.

Speaking of Dumbledore… Harry's blurred gaze landed on what he thought to be the elderly wizard. He was currently reclining in a chair, happily munching on a strawberry tart and sipping tea. When Dumbledore caught Harry's eyes, the old man smiled and waved.

"How is it over there, Harry?" he bellowed, making Madame Louise (the old woman that had failed to size Harry earlier) scowl.

"Fine—just fine!" said Harry, strained. He swatted Anastasius's hands away from his arse. "Not there!" he hissed at the man, who only grinned innocently.

"What did you say, m'boy?"

"I'm _FINE,_" Harry repeated, trying desperately not to strangle Anastasius. The handsome man smirked, then grabbed Harry's hand and peppered it with kisses. Harry swatted Anastasius again, though this time, on his head. Still no effect.

"All right son, just making sure!" Dumbledore called back. "If you need anything, just say my name!"

"…Okay, sir!" he said. Harry's shoulders then drooped, but were quickly straightened by the hawk-eyed Anastasius.

The older man 'tutted', apparently recovered from the beating he had received from Harry.

"Horrible posture you've got there," Anastasius noted through narrowed teal eyes. "I guess we're just going to have to fix that, hmm? Waddya say to helping him become a regal prince, Madame Noir? He's quite the pretty one, and if my eyes don't deceive me, quite powerful in his own right. I wouldn't mind staying with him all night if just to make him more elegant!"

The woman that scrambled to get Harry's clothes laughed and tittered over to Harry. She then scrutinized him through silver eyes before saying, "All right, Anja, since he has the potential. I'll see what I can do."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Harry asked.

"No!" the two workers cried out in unison, already in a flurry to get him to act more stately. But first, Harry had to get a whole new wardrobe.

Harry just sighed, feeling their prodding and mutterings of 'no, no, no, this won't do!' increase. This whole escapade was shaping out to be a relatively long day.

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Harry collapsed on the couch that Dumbledore had transfigured, glad that he was back in Hogwarts's walls and not standing in front of a cooing mirror. Why the old codger let him stay with those—Harry fought a grimace—those _people _for so long (approximately six hours), Harry couldn't fathom, so he brushed the niggling thought away, frowning.

One thing was certain though: Dumbledore was a bit of a sadist.

On the other hand, this was perhaps an understatement, seeing as though he had purposely made Harry blind throughout the whole affair at _Madame Louise_.

The sable-haired boy sighed, and turned over so he lay on his stomach. Times like these he wished he had a slow down button. Just so he could accustom himself to everything and anything. Made for a better life anyhow.

"Harry, dear boy, are you that tired?" asked Dumbledore, concern evident in his voice.

"Shut up, old man," he muttered, irritated.

"What is it, Harry? I can't hear you?" There was a smile in Dumbledore's voice.

"NOTHING!" Harry shouted into a cushion, frustrated. In this time, Dumbledore was as annoying as he was manipulative. Damn old coot.

"Did you think of a name yet?" asked Dumbledore cheerfully, unaware of the turn of Harry's thoughts

"No," said Harry, sighing. "I don't want to change my first name, but how about my surname?"

"Sounds fine to me, m'boy. I understand why you don't want to be seen as a relation to the Potters," said Dumbledore wisely.

"Yeah, well, I've decided that my surname should be Ashcroft, named after the Death Wizard in Africa," said Harry. "Read that he was a horrible man, ordering the Africans to sacrifice each other for a meaningless thing of some sort," he then went on to add. He slumped against the couch, and gazed at Dumbledore through tired eyes.

"Life was unfair to them," he said, a note of finality in his voice.

"That's just life Harry: people die and people live," Dumbledore responded, strangely quiet. He eyed Harry, blue eyes losing their customary twinkle, and said, "Life is one long road, filled with bumps and unnecessary turns. If one could just see past them and make it to the end—well, we'd be happy least to say. We wouldn't need to squabble over things or question others."

Harry stayed quiet.

"I suppose it's getting late. I should return you down to the Slytherin dorms and take my leave."

Harry stayed quiet.

"Come then Harry."

Harry remained quiet but followed Dumbledore. He did not question why he was placed with the snakes, but he believed that Dippet had asked the Sorting Hat which house he should be in. He did not fault the Headmaster for doing so.

"_Hapax legomenon," _Dumbledore told the walls, leading to the Slytherin Dorms. He turned to face Harry, a kind smile on his face. "This is where I leave you, Harry," said the old man, gently ushering Harry inside. "Just go past the long corridor and into the second to the last door. That is where Armando had placed you." _Unfortunately. _But that was left unsaid and unheard, though Harry knew better.

Still quiet, Harry made his way to the chambers. Fortunately, no one was out in the Common Room (as it was rather late), and for that, he was thankful. He shuffled quickly to the door Dumbledore mentioned and pulled it open, peering a green eye inside. No one was moving, so he safely assumed he could walk in.

Big mistake.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!"

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"Well, well, what do we have here, boys?" asked a velvety voice, making Harry shudder. It belonged to someone that looked like an exact, _carbon copy _of his Potions Professor—_Snape. _Minus the billowing cloak; he was also _only_ in his nightclothes. That and his eyes weren't a dark obsidian but a chipped blue. _Is that how he looked without the shapeless robes on? _ The thought of seeing his Potions Professor undressed made Harry's cheeks tinge. But he pushed that thought away into the gutter of his mind. Wordlessly, he stared, realizing that this Snape was where _his teacher _got that chocolatey voice. _Sexy._

"Hum, what do you think? Is he a spy in our midst?" Snape continued, warily eyeing Harry's frozen form up and down. Harry was sorely tempted to tell him to sod off, because (assuming that this was Snape senior) the irony of it all called for a good, long laugh. Hah, a Snape talking about spies. Huh, what funny stuff.

An elegant eyebrow rose to the accusation (not Harry's of course), and a short, gruff voice said, "Come now Nero. Don't act too rashly. He's probably just a butler sent by Professor Dippet to do our bidding." The sarcasm was evident from Harry's point of view.

Nero Snape grunted, the sarcasm apparently lost on him. "I care not for your speculations, Crouch," he snapped.

"And I care not for your paranoia, Snape," the auburn-haired boy sneered. He then turned to Harry and said in an apologetic voice, "Sorry for one of my housemates. He's always jumpy and he's prone to panic attacks—just don't tell anyone about that tidbit though!" There was a flicker of a smile before the boy said, "I'm Caspar Crouch, and the one that's holding you hostage is none other than Nero Snape. Quite the contradiction to purebloods, I'm afraid."

"_Shut your mouth!_" hissed Nero, though he released the spell on Harry with a wave of his wand. Grateful, Harry rubbed his forearms, trying to get a little feeling back into them. Caspar gave Harry an apologetic glance.

"Say sorry, Nero," admonished Caspar.

"No."

"Say sorry or I'll let _them _know about _it_."

Harry vaguely wondered who the Hell 'them' were.

Nero's arms crossed and he stared at Harry and Caspar disapprovingly, lips thinning to a mere line.

"Never," he said, but quickly changed his answer when Caspar lifted a box of… _Honeydukes chocolates? _"All right, all right, I'm sorry," said Nero sulkily, sitting Indian-style on the floor.

"Good." However, Caspar didn't care.

After a long, silent moment, he looked at Harry curiously, as the sable-haired boy made his way back to the bed he abandoned so many hours before. It was immaculately cleaned by the house elves (compulsive little buggers they were) and a pile of what Harry believed to be his pajamas were laid at the edge of his bed. Why he hadn't noticed he was in the Slytherin Dungeons, was once again, beyond his comprehension. Somehow, in this time, Harry was just as clueless as he was before he came here.

"Who are you, by the way?" Caspar finally asked, when Harry was comfortably settled. _How thoughtful, _thought Harry sardonically, but indulged the nosy boy anyway.

"Harry Ashcroft," said Harry curtly. Guess the 'elegant' lesson he had with Anastasius and Madame Noir helped.

"Ashcroft as in _the Ashcroft_?" said Nero disbelievingly.

"No relation to the Death Wizard of course," said Harry instantly, dashing Nero's hopes. The tall boy sulked again. And he oh so wanted a lesson in Dark Arts too!

"You're so predictable, Nero," responded Caspar wryly, lounging on the floor near Snape. "I know you've wanted a personal lesson by a dark wizard, but I didn't know you wanted it _that badly_."

Nero mumbled something incoherent, and Harry and Caspar shared a loud laugh.

Maybe staying in this time wouldn't be so difficult or dreary after all.

A sudden boom from the doorways had the three boys jumping immediately to their feet, wands drawn. What surprised Harry was that Caspar actually looked _serious_. He sensed that the auburn-haired boy was a down-to-earth, jovial person, and it took a lot to make him ever _be _solemn. His green eyes traveled to the two persons at the door, and he almost gasped, if it weren't for the fact that he schooled his features to resemble an impenetrable, blank mask. Great going, those lessons were, if he had to live with these people everyday.

The first person was none other than a Malfoy.

The tall, stately blond boy, quietly observed all three of them, quick-silver eyes flitting to Harry's. Those eerie silver eyes of his flashed dangerously, before quickly darting back to his companion—

Who was none other than a Black.

His inherently aristocratic features indicated that he was born from a well-bred family. Delicately arched eyebrows, hallowed cheekbones, and a sensuous mouth not only added to the image of '_age old beauty' _but of refined elegance. It wasn't that Malfoy _wasn't _handsome. It was just that his beauty lacked the mysterious, crackling aura his darker companion contained. To this, Harry was sorely tempted to say, '_Damn, I can never meet their expectations'_, and he couldn't help that his eyes widened in mere awe of the two.

They made a splendid picture together.

"Hm, the strange boy from earlier," murmured Malfoy, lips quirking. "He's awake, Alphard."

Alphard snorted derisively. "I'm not blind, you git," replied the handsome boy, obviously irritated at his best friend's behavior. He turned to Nero and Casper expectantly. "What have you gathered?" he asked in a mild tone, well aware of Caspar bristling like a cat whose tail chopped off. He tried to be placating to both Caspar and Abraxas, and it seemed as though it wasn't working one bit. At least, for Caspar it wasn't.

"His name is Harry Ashcroft," answered Nero with a nonchalant shrug. Caspar was a bit too busy glowering at Alphard to actually answer. Harry took it that they weren't on the best of terms.

"Interesting," was all Alphard said. He eyed Harry speculatively.

Harry elevated a brow. "Can't I introduce myself?" he spoke out.

"I suppose," drawled Malfoy. "But not until we do—proper etiquette calls for it, you know." The blond then bowed gracefully. "I am Abraxas Prata Malfoy. And the handsome boy besides me is Alphard Daniel Black, younger brother to Orion William Black."

"Damnit, they have better names than me," grumbled Nero, flushing when Abraxas gave him an odd stare.

"Yes, that's true," agreed Caspar. "It's infinitely better than Nero Rudo—" A hand was quickly clapped onto Caspar's mouth, preventing him from speaking anything more than mumbles.

"…Rudolph-?" Harry smothered his laugh and grinned at Nero's ruffled look.

All three wizards, excluding Nero, shared an amused look.

"Don't say it," said the dark-haired wizard, lips pursed. "My dratted mother thought it would be funny to give me a second name that was associated with a _reindeer_. Bloody sodding sadist she is."

"But she does make splendid cookies," piped in Abraxas, smiling.

"Indeed," grinned Alphard boyishly, settling near Nero and a little ways from Caspar, who watched him suspiciously. "And great fudge too," he then added.

_Hmm, _Harry thought, laughing as they all gathered in the middle of the chambers to play a game of, 'Get to know you'. Perhaps it really wasn't going to be that difficult to be with these people after all.

* * *

A/N: I did this chapter, out of the blue. Took me two days but as always, I was inspired by something. Blah, blah, blah, who needs to know. Just leave me a review and tell me if you like it. Spend a minute or two telling me that I need to improve, because Lud, I need to. xD 

And if you're wondering why Harry seems so at ease with the Slytherins--well that's because he was -supposed- to be in Slytherin. It makes sense that he'd get comfy around those gits.

"_Hapax Legomenon_" -- Greek Proverb for 'Once said'.


	2. O is for how Observant you can be

_**DISCLAIM IT: **_I don't own it. Never will. JK Rowling rubs it into my face every minute of my life, whenever I read the Goblet of Fire. ;( I'm so sad.

A/N: Hopefully, you've all realized what a crappy writer I am. I don't do updates unless I'm somehow _inspired _to do so. Funny stuff, I suppose. At any rate, I'm a bad authoress, damnit. There were too many errors in the first chapter—too many character flaws which I'm already going to give you an excuse for. Harry, acts that way to Dumbledore because, from my point of view, our Boy Wonder would be rather pissed at the old coot for keeping too many things from him. Sure Harry would throw a tantrum or two, and act like a downright bastard, but he would never really do anything asides from that.

I've got only one excuse for Dumbledore—the way I wrote him reminds me of my grandpa. Thought to give him human traits (not that JKR doesn't), but yeah, I want to delve deeper into the enigmatic character that Dumbledore is.

Annnnddddd… There are numerous errors (asides from me being too damned redundant) in the first chapter, and I deeply apologize. I'll get to editing later, right after adding this chapter. _Sigh._

**Extra Note:** Anyway, I hope you dear readers realize that there are a lot of puns in the first chapter. Nero Snape's first name for one. The man Anastasius—if you can tell me where I've gotten those names from, I'll write ya a one-shot fic of whatever pairing (slash only!) you choose. ;d It can be anything, all right?

There's also Harry's last name: _Ashcroft_. There's a person that I'd like to connect to Harry through that very name. So my challenge to you readers is to go back to chapter one, find all of those names and references which sound oddly familiar, and define them. Person who finds the most, wins:3

**And erm, I'd like to personally ask someone to be my beta. I certainly need it!**

* * *

It wasn't until the boys were all asleep that a tall, solitary figure crept through the dormitories, the dim lights giving a shroud mystery to the stranger's fair features. Long, spindly fingers grasped the stone walls in an attempt to stay upright, and perhaps, if the figure would have stayed long enough, seen the trail of blood he left behind. He bit his lip and tarried on, dragging his sore feet, regardless. 

Of all the monsters he had to come upon in the Forbidden Forest, it just _had _to be a bloody acromantula. Tom let out a low growl of annoyance, and stomped his way to his room, wrenching open the door and slamming it behind him. Fortunately, his schoolmates were well-asleep by then, and all he could do was cast them a contemptuous sneer. They were all so damned ignorant that it made him sick to his stomach. He snorted, already staggering his way to the last bed.

Tom stripped off his worn clothes and fell onto the plush and undoubtedly cozy bed. He ignored the intense thrumming behind his eyes and brooded.

Today had been a relatively uneventful day (asides from his visit to the Centaur Ovin, in the Forbidden Forest). The Huffledumps had once again made fools out of themselves by casting an incorrect incantation during Charms. Least to say, it resulted in the whole classroom being demolished and an infuriated shout from their gray haired teacher, Professor Maxence Ruskin. For the rest of the week, they were to have classes outside, near the lake. Most had protested vehemently about it (the majority said being Hufflepuff), but Ruskin had made it clear that they had better be glad that he didn't choose the empty classrooms in the dungeons. All had perked at that statement (even the Slytherins, who knew how dreary it was to be down there) and instantly praised the middle-aged man.

Fools.

It was during his fourth class—a joint between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin—that things got a _little_ exciting.

Alphard had waltzed into the room in all of his handsome glory, a good number of Ravenclaws going dreamy-eyed at the rebellious Black. He shot them a good-humored wink, before informing Professor Slughorn that there was a matter of utmost importance and Tom was needed. Or as Alphard had actually said, "_He's the only one that knows the counter-curse to remove a _highly _volatile jinx!"_ A myriad of emotions had flit across Slughorn's beefy features (Tom had read two of them as resignation and suspicion), and eventually the man nodded, conceding.

"You won't be sorry for this, professor!" Alphard had then discreetly patted the man on the shoulder, causing Slughorn to smile a ghost of a smile. After that little shenanigan, the gorgeous boy had shoved him through the doorways, leaving a baffled and silent classroom behind them.

"Okay," Alphard had his hands on his hips and looked so serious that Tom thought he would burst a vessel. Or maybe his peacock of a brain—now that wasn't so bad, if it made the boy stop preening in front of the mirror for a good two hours before breakfast everyday. Tom sighed in bliss. Yes, that'd make a splendid reality!

"Hey, Riddle, are you listening to me?" asked Alphard, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arching.

"Yes," he ground out, lips twitching in agitation, "I was listening to your half-twit ramblings of how you shagged Caspar silly in an empty corridor the other day."

Alphard had the decency to look aghast. "My, whatever do you mean, Riddle!" Alphard said innocently, pretty cobalt eyes widening. "I did no such thing!"

"Right." Tom snorted.

"Well," Alphard's shoulders slumped, "So I did shag him like mad—and mind you, it was one of the most incredible shags I've ever had—but now he won't talk to me." Tom snorted again and muttered something about killing men off with no self-control. Alphard ignored his friend and heaved a dreary sigh. "He told me that it was inappropriate and—" Alphard's voice took on a high-falsetto, "_if you ever do that again, Alphard Daniel Malfoy-Prewett-Black, your bits will be cut off—PERMANENTLY!_" Tom felt no sympathy for the dunderhead that had most of his brain down south.

"It's your fault for being as wise as the world is flat," he stated bluntly, sea green narrowing to slits. "Now tell me why you pulled me out of potions, or else I'll hex your vain arse to oblivion."

Alphard pouted at him. Tom just glared.

"Okay, okay! Geez Riddle, no need to get your knickers in a twist." At the mention of his knickers, Tom's glare intensified. Alphard put a hand up to pacify him and continued, "If you must know, there's a new student here—Abraxas found him sleeping in the bed next to yours."

Tom stared, skeptical. "New student?" he repeated. "I wasn't aware that Hogwarts accepted transfer students in the middle of the year."

"They don't." Alphard graced him with a sly smile. "They just have exceptions. And he's possibly, the most exceptional exception that I've ever seen! You just have to see him to believe him!" he gushed, twirling around. "He has an extraordinary aura that I've never seen the likes of before. And he's quite tasty too—as innocent as a sheep from what I saw." He got all starry-eyed, even going so far as to wiggle his own bum lewdly.

Tom had had enough. "Pervert," he muttered, turning away to walk back to his class.

"Only for handsome blokes like you, Riddle!" shouted Alphard behind him. Tom had no qualms about giving the idiot the two-fingered salute.

Presently, as he lay in bed, Tom glanced over at his new dorm mate. A mop of unruly black-brown hair spread like an aura on the green pillow, and a thin line of drool made its way down the boy's chin. This boy had a strange lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and _definitely _long lashes that fanned over tanned cheeks. His nose was pert without it having to look too small, and full, red lips curved into a gentle smile. Appearances being everything to Tom, it didn't seem as if this person was at all as spectacular as Alphard had told him. However, Tom being Tom—he knew better. He felt the heady power dripping off the boy in tumultuous waves, goading Tom to tame to boy, make him _his. _He managed to stop the shiver that ran down his spine.

Merlin was that boy strong.

A thin arm was thrown over the newcomer's face, and Tom snapped his gaze back with an abrupt shake of his head.

Tomorrow, he'd just have to question the boy himself.

He silently placed a concealment and disillusion charm on himself and went to bed.

7777777

_Tickle, tickle. Tickle, tickle._

Harry groaned and batted the hand away. "'m go somewhere else, you feather dusterer, you. I just want sleep—sleepy, sleepy." He let out a goofy smile and buried his head into his pillow, lightly kicking out at the presence nearby. "Now go away," he whined, when the presence remained rooted to the foot of his bed. An amused voice spoke,

"Well you look at that, Nero. Harry's just another one of those people that like to sleep in and miss an _entire _day of schooling. I wonder how he'd react if we just _left him _to his own devices, without a _guide _to the school. Besides, we're almost late—"

"_What?!"_

Harry shot out of bed, and shimmied out of his nightclothes, pulling up his green and white stripped sock in the process. Miraculously, Harry did not fall, nor did he stop in his hurry to look at the snickering occupants of the room. He was busy combing out the snarls and tangles in his hair when Abraxas finally said through his laughter,

"If you had let me finish my sentence, I would have only said that we were late to breakfast."

Abraxas suppressed a snigger at Harry's infuriated look.

"Your fault for jumping to conclusions, Ashcroft," Nero said dryly, quickly backing his friend up. "If it weren't for your obvious tendency to oversleep, we'd be having breakfast in the Great Hall, stuffing our faces in sheer delight. I hope you're happy that your habits will starve us all."

"Prats," Harry muttered, glowering. He sat down, and huffed. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?" he asked.

Caspar, Abraxas, and Alphard shrugged, except Nero, who actually had a permanent scowl etched onto his face.

"Trust me, we tried," said Caspar mildly, slapping Alphard's arm away with a glare.

Alphard pouted. "Yes, we tried hexing you awake, and that didn't do a thing," he butted-in, plastering an innocuous look onto his stunning features as Caspar's glare deepened.

"Then we tried to pour one of Nero's wake-me-up concoctions on your face," continued Abraxas, seemingly amused at the whole situation. His mercury eyes glimmered as he spoke, and he had an air that screamed, '_got the proverbial cream!_' Harry felt a spasm under his eyes.

"And what happened afterwards?" he questioned, lips taking a dangerous downturn.

"Oh, well, you know," said Alphard dismissively, "we tickled you."

"No, I meant what are the side-effects," said Harry deadpanned. He quelled the urge to jinx the idiots, but remained as saintly as ever. He could swear he gave off a smothering benevolent aura throughout the whole conversation. Hah, Potter Saint Potter. What a grand name!

"Oh…" Alphard's face fell. "Er, we didn't really think about that, you know."

"Just tell me already, so I won't have to hex your sorry arses," said Harry hotly.

All four of the Slytherins gulped, and Nero even managed a slightly frightened stare. He was the one that actually said, "The wake-me-up curse happens to make you unbearably giddy for the whole day and won't take effect until—" Nero cast a quick tempus charm, "a minute from now."

"And the potion?" said Harry, balling his fists up in an attempt to alleviate his growing fury.

"Makes you kiss the first person you're attracted to!" piped up Alphard happily. "And I hope it's me!" Caspar growled, and the handsome boy cowered. "I mean, no, I don't hope it's me," he said in a tiny voice, much to Caspar's approving glance.

Caspar then caught Harry's blank gaze and winked. "He won't bother you for sure, Harry," he promised, balancing himself on the sable haired boy's bed, grinning. "I'll keep him under a tight leash, so don't you worry about your fine arse."

"Great," Harry mumbled, rolling his eyes. "Not only do I have to watch my back, but I also have to make sure not to jump the nearest bloke I'm attracted to. What joy," his voice dripped sarcasm, "I can't wait to be giddy either."

"You don't have to wait long, Ashcroft. Just twenty seconds," said Nero, obsidian eyes glittering in amusement.

"They are truly kids," Tom said to himself, diminishing his aura and presence with a mere snap of his fingers. He then shook his head, quietly ignoring his bickering dorm mates. The only person that had bothered to acknowledge his presence was Abraxas, who stopped in his sniggering to give Tom a chaste kiss on the lips. "Morning Riddle," the blond had whispered into his mouth, before gently shoving him to the directions of the showers. Pink lips curved upwards into a small grin, and Abraxas said, "Go take a shower; you stink like a herd of Hippogriffs." His pretty nose wrinkled, and Tom barked a short laugh.

"It's probably the blood," he said, thoroughly amused. Abraxas rolled his eyes in response, as Tom suavely bid him leave.

"Bye Riddle—and get a grip on your surroundings or else someone else might do it for you!" shouted Abraxas. "And we all know how much you love yourself too much to do anything about it!"

"I get it, Malfoy!" he shouted back, smiling. "Now sod off or you might find my wand somewhere you don't want it!"

"Kinky, Riddle! Real kinky!"

Tom's lips twitched as he strolled past a few seven years, one namely being Orion Black. He inclined his head as other Slytherins muttered a choice 'good morning' and Tom vaguely wondered when he'd have the chance to talk to Harry alone. He placed his toiletries onto the small shelf near the shower head, and then stripped down until he was only in his knickers. He twisted the shower's handles.

Once the water was warm enough, he began to lather his hair and heaved a dreary sigh.

Perhaps, he'd be able to single Harry out during first break.

7777777

It was a fact for Harry that morning came too quickly. That, and no matter how early he slept, he could never have the effect of a good night's sleep. Simply put, it was _impossible_. However, today, since he was actually surrounded by people who hadn't the faintest clue who he was—he felt different. At ease, better. Or maybe it was the effect of the 'wake-me-up' hex.

At any rate, Harry giggled, nuzzling Nero's neck happily. He moaned and wiggled his body closer. "Neeerooo," he complained, plastering himself closer to the irate boy. Nice body, he thought through the haze of giddiness that consumed him. Nice _waaarm _body.

"What?" Nero snapped out. He edged away from Harry's touchy-feely hands.

"Come closer!" Harry demanded, pouting outrageously.

"Yes, why don't you get closer and feel him up," Abraxas muttered, pushing past them. He gave Nero a strange stare that was only broken when Harry sidled closer to the dark haired boy. With a derisive sniff, Abraxas stalked away, long blond hair streaking behind him.

Nero looked perplexed, as he held onto Harry. "What crawled up his butt and died?" he asked Harry, who shrugged.

"I have no clueeeeeeeee!" Harry said, in a fit of (temporary) sanity.

Then, after a moment of silence, Harry resumed his giggling and cooing. "Oh for the love of Merlin," said Nero, exasperated. He flicked his wand out and muttered a dark, "Finite Incantatem." His eyebrows knitted together, when it seemed as if there was no effect on Harry. That was, until Harry fell flat on his face.

Harry got up; rubbed his nose, but moved to hug Nero anyway. "Thank you!" he said, grateful that he wouldn't have to giggle or prance around for the whole day. He hugged Nero closer to him. "Merlin, you have no idea how hard it is to concentrate with that particular hex on me!" he breathed, crushing the smaller boy even more.

"Oh no," said Nero, a wry twist to his lips, "I do know."

And Harry didn't doubt him.

They made quick time to reach Nero's double Herbology class. The man standing in front was sickly-looking, with a pale, pinched face, as if he were in constant pain. In a nasal voice, the man, Nathan Burgundy, Harry soon learned, said, "Five points from Slytherin for being late, now off near the adiatas venerim."

"What do you reckon that means?" Harry whispered to Nero, who snorted softly to himself.

"I believe he meant for us to sit near the far end of the room, where the green ferns are," Nero replied, already daintily seated. Harry grumbled but did the same, and although not as graceful as Nero, had achieved the usual Slytherin perfection. For being a Gryffindor most of his student life, it was ironic how easily Harry could act the part as a Slytherin.

Professor Burgundy coughed slightly to get his students' attention. They—as per usual—ignored him, and continued chatting amongst each other. Even Harry and Nero chose not to comply, and instead were deep in a conversation about Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.

"But Nero, there _is _a shite flavored bean—I can swear it!"

"Right," Nero scoffed, placing his elbows on the rickety wood desk. "As if, Ashcroft. I'm not stupid enough to fall for that. The only disgusting flavor that Bertie Botts has is—"

Burgundy huffed, then tapped his wand to his throat. "_Sonorus_!"

"Now students!" his words reverberated off the Green House's walls, and the students jumped two feet in the air. Literally. "That's better," the man beamed. "_Quietus_—all right class, since that's been settled, please turn to page two hundred and seventy-seven in the assigned book. And you there boy—" he pointed imperiously to Harry, "come up here and introduce yourself." A bushy eyebrow lifted, when Harry stayed budged to his seat.

Harry's face contorted, seeing his professor wasn't joking. "All right, sir." He reluctantly got up from his seat, and walked to the front of the class. Harry awkwardly bowed and said, "I am Harry Ashcroft, originally home schooled but now am attending Hogwarts. Pleased to meet your acquaintance." He caught a rather handsome Hufflepuff boy's eyes and said lowly, "I hope we can all get along without the usual house discriminations." Harry gave the boy a hooded look, causing the boy's cheeks to tinge a pretty scarlet.

A few girls sighed, and a lot of other boys looked at him suspiciously, barring the one that Harry had charmed. Burgundy coughed again, overlooking Harry's obvious charismatic display.

Burgundy waved him away. "That'll be all, Mister Ashcroft," he said shortly, turning so he could write something on the board.

Harry's eye twitched as he made his way back to Nero. "Bloody ponce," he whispered to the dark haired boy, getting a choked laugh in return. Too bad for him that Burgundy had heard his words, and by the end of the class, had deducted so many points from both his house and Slytherin that every student began plotting his demise.

"I'll throw that git inside a nest of Acromantulas," muttered a sandy-haired Hufflepuff—Bernard Firbank. His blue eyed gaze stared fiercely down at the ground. "This makes Hufflepuff last in the House Cup…Again." The sixth-year prefect sighed, dejected.

"Well, I'll hex him with a charm that'd make sing in falsetto for hours," said a fellow Hufflepuff, grinning and catching up to his friend. "It'd probably make you feel better, eh, 'nard?"

"I guess," said Bernard dismally, shaking his head. "I still want to shove him inside a pit of magical lava, though."

"That'd be ace, mate. Can't wait until that happens!"

Harry and Nero muffled their sniggers as they joined the crowds heading back to the castle. "They sure do have strange ideas," said Harry to Nero, who only looked mildly interested as they ploughed to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Yes, well, I suppose they do," said Nero flippantly. "But Slytherins dish out to worst in the prank challenge."

Harry lifted an eyebrow. "Prank challenge? I've never heard of that before."

"It's something of a secret among the school," replied Nero, settling down onto the Slytherin bench. Harry gave the dark haired boy a disbelieving look.

"Then how do you know it?" he persisted.

"It's because Alphard was the one that—" Nero's face froze, and he looked hilarious, with his mouth half-open, the peas he had just shoved in quite visible to all on-lookers.

"One that-?" Harry prodded.

"Rather a rowdy bunch, aren't you kids?" trailed a silky voice around his ear. Harry started, and swerved his head, gasping when he was face to face with clear white eyes.

"Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed, falling off his seat in a comical heap on the floor. He groaned, eyes blurring for a fraction of a second before clearing. "What the bloody sod was that?" he asked Nero, who shrugged in response. "He looked like a ghost!" Harry laughed nervously, fixing his glasses back in place. He then sat back onto his seat, only to realize that he was in the lap of a very _nice-smelling _man. He craned his neck; flushing when his eyes glued onto the stranger's striking features. A very _handsome _man, his mind whispered traitorously.

"Harry," said Nero shortly, "This is Professor Caton, he's our professor for Magical Theory."

"I—oh," Harry's flush reached his neck as he let out an indignant squawk. He hurriedly jumped out of Caton's lap. "Sorry sir, I didn't know you were there," he mumbled, avoiding all the curious glances he was receiving from the other students.

"Not to worry, I rather liked you there anyway," said Caton in a strange accent, smiling easily and pulling Harry next to him. His pearly, luminescent eyes reflected in the sunlight, and Harry got a sneaking suspicion that there was more to this Professor than he originally thought (and that wasn't far off from a pervert). The way he dressed himself for one: regal and expensive. It sort of hurt to look at the elder man without wincing at the elaborate designs on his shining silk robes. Harry could never imagine spending a fortunate on just his wardrobe—but fortunately enough for him, he didn't need to, seeing as though the money belonged to Dumbledore. He hoped the robes and casual wear would last a few years.

"…Right," said Harry awkwardly. He shot Nero a helpless glance, and the boy shrugged, not quite at a loss like Harry was. Nero turned to the older man.

"_Sir_," said Nero flatly, gazing straight into Canton's flashing eyes, "Naff off and go to the Teacher's table, will you?"

The older man laughed and politely refused Nero's blatant request, slinging a friendly arm around both he and Harry's shoulders. "Now where would the fun be in that?" said Canton, amused. "Besides, I came here to visit my English nephew!" Harry's eyes widened and he looked to Nero for an explanation, but the other boy's eyes were raised diligently to the ceiling. After patiently waiting for Nero's explanation (there was none), Harry frowned.

_Well this is going to be a long lunch break_, Harry thought with a deep sigh, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice.

"So what were you saying about a _very _secret prank war?" asked Caton, his interest piqued.

At the same time that statement was said, Harry took another drink, emptying his cup in one go.

_Maybe too long_, he thought sullenly.

7777777

A hand shot out and grabbed Harry, as Nero left to get to Divinations. Harry had outright refused when Nero asked if he wanted to go along. Like he wanted to sit in a stuffy classroom, with some batty lady telling him of his demise in a mystic I've-been-on-drugs voice. It made him sick—and it wasn't just the perfumes. So with a parting wave to his newly made friend, he strolled down the winding staircase.

And, that was where we found him, shoved up the stone wall by a very handsome and aggravated boy.

"I've waited for most of the day to get you alone, Ashcroft," hissed Tom, irritated at his lack of restraint. When he had seen the oblivious boy walking past him, Tom's body had acted on instinct. It was rude yes, and not the best way to introduce one's self, but Tom could really care less.

"What?" Bewildered green eyes met his sea green.

"I'm surprised," said Tom, leaning in further so that he was nose to nose with Harry, "that you haven't noticed my presence all day. I've been following you, simply put."

"Oh." Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "You look familiar," he said. "Have I met you before?"

"I'm sure," Tom sneered, but then snorted, releasing Harry, who rubbed his shoulders. "I'm fairly sure I've never met you, Ashcroft. I usually remember people and memorize their names and faces at first glance. But you, you look a lot like me," Tom said bluntly.

"I guess," Harry shrugged. He didn't like the way the conversation was going. And for someone that had easily pinned him to a wall—Harry vaguely pondered what the boy wanted. So he asked, "Who are you?"

Sea green eyes narrowed, and there was a tense moment of silence.

Then the boy's lips moved,

"Tom Riddle, Headboy of Hogwarts."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, as his eyes locked with Tom's.

* * *

A/N: Yeah, at least I updated and introduced Tom. So be happy. It's such a bitch to update! _Sob_

Wish someone would tell me what I need to improve on. It's rather hard to keep on track with the story, without it having to go into breaks every few sentences. I have the hardest time making the story flow, lol.

And yeah, review.

-**Edit: Changed prefect to Headboy. I know Headboys don't stay in sixth-year dormitories, but hey, my story. xD**


	3. M is for your Magniloquence

**DISCLAIM IT: **Bloody, sodding, 'arfen, HELL. I won't ever own it. I hate you powers beyond my control. I can't even get Harry or Draco to spray whip cream all over their bodies. What makes you think I own it now?

A/N: Your heartfelt reviews made me want to _type _the third chapter. Damn you emotional blackmail! –Shakes fist in mock anger- And there's a surprise! An interlude for you faithful readers. xD With another challenge inside. Hope you authors/authoresses can live up to your names and try it, heh.

**Beta, beta, beta. Where art for thou when thine needest you?**

And Squick! You are the winner of my first challenge. Leave the details of the one-shot pairing of your choice in an e-mail, or whateverthehell you do. ;o I'm glad someone at least takes the time to read A/Ns.

* * *

Random Info: 

Professor Caton: Looks to be 23 years old. Spanish. Full name, Miele Caton. Has a strange sense of humor. A bit of a pervert and he has a mysterious past. Hum, what could it be-?

Professor Burgundy: 36 years old. English. Sickly, and a very impatient man. Head of Hufflepuff, much to their dismay. He never allows favoritism to get in the way of anything.

Nero Rudolphus Snape: Contrary to popular belief, his full second name was Rudolphus, not Rudolph. Too bad for him it was awful either way. Quite a dark fellow, with a quirky sense of humor. Most often seen with Harry, or often being glared to oblivion by Abraxas.

Abraxas Prata Malfoy: An all-around arrogant git. Has good points because he's generally quite kind and gentle when he's around his friends. Is possessive of Nero and jealous of Harry.

Caspar Leopold Crouch: Short, adorable auburn-haired wizard. He and Alphard seem to have some sort of dysfunctional relationship.

Alphard Daniel Black: Undeniably handsome Slytherin. Knows this, and takes advantage of it. He's charming, and has a tendency to be one-tracked minded. He seems to like Harry and snuggles up to him at any given chance—granted, if Caspar isn't there to chide him/drag him away.

Harry Potter/Ashcroft: He's not too sure if he's dead or alive. He always seems to be dying in fics like these, but, as it is, he's alive, and well—flamingly gay. Okay, not so flamingly, but enough for readers to get it. He likes to cling to Nero a lot, and he considers all of his 'friends' handsome. Doesn't believe he's any good-looking though. On the contrary, he's such a joe-shmoe in regards to his attitude.

Albus Dumbledore: Old coot that flew off his perch a long time ago. His eccentricity marks him as a wizard not to be trifled with. Likes lemon drops and anything sweet. Favors Harry.

Armando Dippet: Very, old, and very _ancient _man with large glasses. Tends to worry about making his office a perfect haven for any student to come to. Likes lemon tarts, sweets, and savory food. Favors Tom, and was Head of Slytherin before Slughorn.

Slughorn: All around deadbeat. Not much is known about him in this story, except that he favors students that have the potential to be great. Or have a lot of connections. Most of the time, favors only purebloods. Or mostly, favors Tom for his 'understandably powerful ways'. Head of Slytherin House.

* * *

"Sit, sit, my old friend!" said Armando, gesturing to an empty chair besides Fawkes. The phoenix squawked in protest, as Armando waved it away. "Shoo Fawkes," he said to it, as it snootily flew to the window, sticking its hind feathers out. Albus chuckled, and under the gaze of Armando, gingerly seated himself onto the fine, oak chair. He coughed. 

"Make yourself comfortable, Albus."

When the Headmaster smiled benevolently, all of Albus' misgivings were soothed by that smile. He relaxed in his chair. Boy was his back killing him! No more dancing up and down steps for him!

"Tea?" asked Armando politely.

Albus nodded mutely.

Wandleslly conjuring a plate of lemon tarts and tea, Armando watched as his friend from ages past shifted in his chair. "So, Albus," he began amicably, "what brings you to my _hopefully _pretty office? An errand perhaps? Or the need to find answers that would undoubtedly lead to even more questions?" An eyebrow lifted. "Or maybe you've only come to visit me out of sheer good will!" The old Headmaster leaned forward in his chair, placing his chin in his hands, elbows propped on top of the dark wood. "So which is it-?" he queried.

"None, I'm afraid," Albus chuckled, helping himself to a biscuit. He chewed on it thoughtfully, then said, "Well, I've actually come to tell you of dear Harrison's progress."

"Ahh." Armando almost looked disappointed. "Well, go on then," he said dismissively.

_.Maybe its because these chambers are so tacky and stuffy, that no one ever bothers to visit you—unless of course they have bad news!. _Fawkes interrupted with a chirp, cawing laughingly to itself.

From the windows, it cawed another loud laugh, and Armando shot his Hogwarts familiar an exasperated stare. "Shut your mouth, Fawkes, or I might stuff you with wool." The phoenix backed down, but not without another word.

_.You do that and you lose a good drinking buddy. _It warned.

Armando grumbled, and returned his focus to Albus, who snorted in vague amusement.

"Fawkes has a healthy sense of humor," noted Albus with a smile.

"Indeed," Armando muttered, before getting down to business. "So tell me, Albus," he said, "what of Harry's first day? He has presumably made friends, yes?"

"Yes, of that, he did," replied Albus, draining his tea. "His friends are the infamous Slytherin Quintet."

The aged Headmaster gave Albus a disbelieving look. "I find it hard to believe," he said slowly, as if trying to digest the new information, "that Tom, Abraxas, Nero, Alphard and Caspar have warmed up to him."

"They hit it off spectacularly, if you ask me. And it was inevitable, seeing that you put them in the same House _and _dorm," said Dumbledore, straight-faced.

Armando smiled. "Still sore that I didn't place him in your House, Albus?" he said cheerfully.

"No," Albus replied curtly, not bothering to hide his own grin. "He looks quite homey there, with the Slytherins. I would have personally preferred it if you placed him in Ravenclaw, but alas, the decision was yours to make."

"I'm glad you think so!" Armando pushed his ridiculously large glasses up. "Although, I can't seem to shake this strange feeling off," he confided to Albus a moment later, in a hushed voice. His large brown eyes clouded over, and he said, "Ever since that Potter boy has turned up—well, I have this notion that he'll never be able to go back to wherever he came from! Strange isn't it?"

"You don't say," said Albus speculatively.

They both sat there in silence for the remainder of the day.

Until Armando spoke up and said,

"You don't think they're getting into any mischief, do you, Albus?"

Albus stared, then lifted his shoulder up, and finally down.

Fawkes, who also wanted to join the conversation, bustled on his feet, trilling softly.

._I'm sure they haven't made a sizeable hole in Hogwarts' halls, if that's what you mean._

Both Albus and Armando looked relieved.

"I'm sure they're not foolish enough to try anything," assured Albus.

But hey, what did they know?

_.You never know. _said Fawkes wisely.

7777777

Tom searched Harry's green eyes, seeing a hint of panic settling in them. His lips turned downwards, and he squashed the intense feeling of—_disappointment?_ away. He stared impassively down at the shorter Slytherin.

"What, is my name too hard to process, Ashcroft?" he mocked, crossing his arms while elevating a perfectly formed eyebrow.

That seemed to snap Harry out of his stupor. The younger boy shook his head, then scowled. "No," he bit out shortly, annoyed. "You just surprised me, I guess." Then, in a smaller voice Harry said, "Nero didn't say that anyone was following me."

"Obviously," said Tom. He conjured a bench, and let Harry sit first, before doing so himself. It was for civility's sake, was his excuse. He regarded Harry through hooded eyes. "He's the type that doesn't say anything until you ask," Tom explained patiently. "And he's a good friend. He knows when I want to show myself," added Tom as an afterthought.

"Oh." Harry's face blanked. "That explains why he's so reserved. But he does have a wicked sense of humor though!" Harry said.

Tom nearly smiled, and nodded to cover his slip-up. He cleared his throat. "Indeed. Actually, from your earlier conversation about the…hum, the prank war, was it-? Well, at any rate, Nero and Alphard created it."

"Really?" asked Harry, excited. It was as if he had totally forgotten what happened some minutes before. Tom inwardly rolled his eyes. What a blithering idiot.

"No, but Dumbledore did come down and dance in his knickers a second ago," Tom cooed in a condescending tone, trying his best not to laugh. The look of utter confusion on Harry's face made his day. It _really _did. He guffawed. "Of _course _the two did!" he exclaimed between laughs. "They started it in their first years—quite brilliant those two, from the looks of effort from the other Houses during the war!"

Harry glowered. "You have a sick sense of humor, you know."

"Doesn't anyone, scar-head?" drawled Tom, indicating Harry's lightning bolt scar.

Harry pretended to think for a moment.

"Uh, no. Just you, snake-face," he sniped, wrinkling his nose.

"Well don't I feel special!" Tom said sarcastically, secretly enjoying the conversation and insults.

In all honesty, there really was nothing spectacular about the boy. Asides from his majestic aura, what else was good about him? It wasn't like Tom didn't see those types of auras every day (Nero, or example.) It was just that Harry's aura was the color of rusty blood that reeled him in, like a fly to a freshly baked blueberry pie.

He stared at the splendid aura, sea green eyes racking in all the minute details. From the way it twisted in strained around Harry—to even the littlest and thinnest threat emanating from Harry's fingertips.

It looked like an ocean of—

Blood, blood, _blood_.

Thrumming all over Harry. There were so many different shades of it, that Tom took another minute to watch the bloodied splendor. _There's so much,_ he mused silently to himself. He shook out of his thoughts; he then unexpectedly shoved Harry from his seat. The youth convulsed in pain as his arse landed on the _not-so-soft _stone floors. And as Harry sputtered in anger, Tom sniggered. So they started on the wrong foot, now what of it? What better way than to end off on the third one. It didn't matter to him now. Harry was nothing, like the rest of the wretched peons in school.

He stood up gracefully, casting Harry a haughty smile. It was an indulgent one—one that showed how _beneath _Harry was from him. His look not only served to make Harry infuriated, but through his other eyes, Tom saw the swirling waves of that bloody aura rise up, threatening to drown him in those crimson swells…

Magnificent.

Tom scoffed at his twist of thoughts. Turning on his heels, he left Harry to stew in his own devices. What he did, was of no concern to Tom.

His black dress shoes clipped loudly in the deserted hallways, and Tom was tempted to charm his feet quiet. But he didn't.

"Adieu, Ashcroft."

He lifted a slender hand in a rather heartless wave, while ducking into the next corridor, quite content with his investigating. He had wasted an entire day, but that was nothing. He _was _the Head Boy after all. He did have _some_ privileges.

A nagging sense, from the pit of his mind told him that someday, someone very special would walk away like this, too.

It hurt a little.

Behind him, Harry seethed.

Why had he even tried to give Voldie-moldy a chance to redeem himself? It wasn't even worth it, he thought, running a hand down his back, to check if there was anything broken. He huffed, satisfied. He stood up, gave the solid wooden bench a kick, then escaped back to the Dungeons, where he could at least _sulk properly, _with no arrogant gits around to spoil it.

It took a few wrong turns, a run-in with the Bloody Baron, and a disappearing staircase to even reach the aforementioned Dungeons—but he did it, thank Merlin. Descending the final steps, he confronted a large, snake statue, its tongue slithering in and out of its mouth magically. It hissed, as if it thought Harry couldn't understand it:

'_Idiotic humansssss. Alwaysss forgetting to be resssspectful! Never leavesss a painted mousssseee near me for funnn.'_

Harry's awful mood dissipated hearing, the snake grumble about its lack of appropriate care. Was there even a way to properly care for a snake statue?

_'You want a mouse painted near you?' _he asked it, faintly amused.

It seemed to blink in surprise (if statues could even do so, it probably would have), and hissed, '_My, you can ssssspeak like Tom doessss to me. He triesssss to get a mousssee painted every month, but I ssssseem to eat them all.'_

Harry didn't bother to doubt it.

_'How about I get someone to paint you a cage of mice? Will that suffice?'_

The statue considered. Then said, _'Yesss, that will sssssuffice, sssssnake-talker. For that, I am grateful. Now allow me to let you insssside.'_ The slab of stone began to slide down the cracks of the Dungeon floor, and disappeared, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. Harry supposed that was where the Common Room led to.

_'Thanks, snake_,' he said, moving to go inside the wall.

_'Call me Ssssentelle,' _it said from below the floors. Harry jumped, but then calmed himself. He smiled in thanks, sure that if the statue could hear him, then it could see him. He strode into the bumpy-walled corridor (now that he had actually step foot in it, he could understand why most would find Slytherin House unsuitable quarters), and walked.

And walked.

And walked.

And walked until his feet hurt.

He pondered if the long hallway would ever end. And just as he was about to give up, and curl up in the fetal position, light shone at the end of the stretch of wall. Hurriedly striding into the empty Common Room (it was still early afternoon), Harry plopped down onto the nearest couch, sighing.

He'd never known that he was so claustrophobic before.

777777

"I don't think that this is normal, Caspar."

"What's not normal?"

"It's… _sixteen inches _long, and I'm starting to get freaked out by it," was the quiet mutter.

"Oh shush you, it won't hurt while it's growing. Besides, it looks good that long."

"But what about the… texture? I mean, it's just so… just too big and soft."

"You have got to be kidding me, Nero," Caspar sighed. He reached over to swat the long-nosed boy on the head with a scowl. "There's nothing wrong with your oily hair, you twit. I mean, now instead of looking oily from being in constant contact with deadly potion fumes—well, now it's _beautiful_! I think it's even better than Alphard's," admitted Caspar grudgingly. It took a lot for him to admit anything at all when it concerned the deathly handsome Black. Period.

Nero snorted. "Of course then, I believe you."

"No, I'm quite serious about this," said Caspar, as they sat in Magical Theories class. Professor Caton was looming over the Gryffindor-fuck-ups in the front, using that voice of his to melt their already melted brains. He left the Slytherins well-alone, knowing that they weren't up to playing his mind games. The tall, Spaniard gazed dispassionately at them through his pearly eyes, the dark indigo iris a showy compliment to his pale skin and equally pale eyes.

"Liar," hissed Nero underneath his breath, fingering his now very silky locks. It trailed down his fingers like water, and he really wasn't used to it. He was better off with his oily hair, when the only people who would stare at him were the lower years. Usually, it was because of his aristocratic (namely, large hawk-nose and high cheekbones) that got them to stare. He wasn't nicknamed "Snape the Nose" for nothing.

What worried the dark haired boy was that Abraxas sat beside him, equally silent. The stunning blond seemed to be in quiet contemplation over something. His silver eyes were distant and foggy, and his skin looked faint.

Nero scowled, turning away and back to the lesson at hand. Why was he so worried for the younger Malfoy, anyway? It wasn't like he _cared _for him.

"Can anyone tell me what the spell, _episky _does? Not you, Mister Andes McKinnon." The Ravenclaw with shaggy brown hair near Nero slumped, disappointed.

Abraxas raised his hand, but it seemed like a half-hearted attempt. Caton chose him anyway.

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?" he said testily.

"It heals minor injuries, such as bruises, scrapes, and cuts. The spell heals the tarsal bones in the ankle, the metatarsal bones in the main bone of the foot, and the phalanges there, which are used to support the foot. It also heals the hands' bones, the metacarpus and phalanges," said Abraxas absent-mindedly, as if he were reciting this at the top of his head. This was, if it concerned any Malfoy, the case.

There was some minor clapping, but just barely. Caton looked pleased at such a detailed answer, and awarded the Slytherin House ten points.

"Now, thanks to that detailed explanation from Mister Malfoy, we can move on to our next lesson. I'd all like you to look to the board, where wandless magic comes into play…"

All heads snapped up, interest piqued.

Caton chuckled.

"I'm sorry, but there's only going to be a few of you that can even _manage _to do things wandlessly. It's just a natural talent, I suppose," said Caton, trying to soothe the disheartened students' dismay. "I'd like to have a volunteer for this experiment, anyone--?" Hands rose in the air, but the older man brushed them off, instantly pinpointing his nephew with those eerie eyes of his.

"Mister Snape," intoned Caton. "Come on up."

Nero frowned. "No," he answered back. "Why don't you choose Caspar, here?" He flicked a long finger at Caspar, who bounced eagerly in his seat. The auburn-haired boy automatically deflated though, at Caton's intense glare.

"Come up, now Mister Snape." His uncle's voice left no room for argument. Nero sighed, defeated. He stood up, and reluctantly made his way to Caton.

"I'd like you to pull both hands out."

"Why?" Nero asked, tensing. This all seemed ridiculous…

"Because there are two types of wandless magic," said Caton, impressively casting a simple fire spell in front of them. "Silenced magic, and movement magic. We'll start with the harder, Silenced magic, so movement magic would be easier." There were muffled groans from the class, and he instantly hushed them with a glower. "All right then…" He turned back to Nero, a smile twisting his lips. "Try to will a simple spell, like _point me_. Since you don't have a wand, a bright light will appear in place of it, and will direct you north. Most spells used wandlessly are twice as strong as one cast with a wand. So go on, Mister Snape," said Caton, after his lengthy explanation.

Nero sighed again.

"Point—"

"Don't say anything."

Nero scowled darkly, tossing his long black hair back. He ignored the ogoling looks and phrases, "Blimey—did Snape get a makeover?" and concentrated.

_Point me, _he thought, trying in vain to push tendrils of his magic out.

It seemed to work, and for that, Caton looked once again pleased. A dark blue light appeared in front of Nero, then wavered and blinked out. In spite of this, Caton still looked smug, his flawless, alabaster features tingeing pink in obvious pleasure.

"Twenty point to Slytherin," he said proudly. "Now who's next?"

Groans and curses issued forth in the class.

7777777

Muggle Studies, for Abraxas, was always an interesting subject. It let him realize what he truly was missing out in the world. Even if it was actually a Muggle History class, it still was a lot of fun to him. But only he could call it fun, if Alphard and Caspar's complaints on how boring the class was any indication.

"…And even zhough _No Man's Land_ ees most associated with World War I, zhe term goes back to zhe early fourteenth century; where on zhe north walls of London, criminals 'vere executed. Bodies 'anged, impaled, and 'vhere beheaded as a gruesome warning to anyone vanting to commit a crime.

"Vell, as I 'vas saying about it being associated with World War one, there is _also _var still, here in ze Europe. Thankfully, zhe wizarding communities ees not largely affected by the Muggle wars, as we do a splendid job of 'iding ourselves," said Jacques Bierce, his heavy French accent making his words indiscernible. Lucky for the students (purebloods mostly), they were all fast asleep by their self-updating books about Muggle History, their snores not aggravating the chipper young Frenchman. There were an exceptional few that had actually managed to stay awake, like: Abel Hotz from Gryffindor, the infamous Davis Connor from Ravenclaw, and of course, Abraxas Malfoy from Slytherin.

"This No Man's Land ees a large stretch of land, vith many craters, and trenches in which Muggle soldiers hid in. Zhere is barbed wire, land mines, Muggle corpses, and Muggle wounded everywhere. A famous Muggle soldier, Wilfred Owen, wrote zhis about the No Man's Land."

Behind the stunning Professor, the chalkboard worte:

_"No Man's Land is pocketmarked like the body of foulest disease and its odour is the breath of cancer...No Man's Land under snow is like the face of the moon, chaotic, crater-ridden, uninhabitable, awful, the abode of madness._

_"Hideous landscapes, vile noises...everything unnatural, broken, blastered; the distortion of the dead, whose unburiable bodies sit outside the dug-outs all day, all night, the most execrable sights on earth."_

"Beautiful, no?" beamed Bierce.

Abel raised a hand.

"Yes, Messeur 'otz?"

"What you said about there being a war—is it still going on?"

Professor Bierce laughed throatily, his deep chuckle resonating around the room. Still, the others did not wake up.

"Vhy, that is a good question!" he chuckled again. "Zhe var ees going all around zhe world, you naïve little boys and girls. It is currently September zhe twelfh of ninety-fourty-three, meaning the war 'as been going on for about four years."

Abel looked perplexed, and he asked another question.

"But, Professor, where is this war going on? And why doesn't it _directly _affect us? I mean, we _are _in Europe."

Bierce easily took that query into stride. He smiled indulgently, showing sparkly white teeth. He was half-veela, which explained his ethereal glow and gags of fan-clubs, dedicated to his gorgeous honor. Whenever he walked, people stared, wherever he talked, people craned their necks to listen. It was sad, that the man was totally oblivious to it. "My boy, eet is not that very 'ard to comprehend!" he said. "We are magical people, and zhat is our advantage! Though zhere are many Jewish and other Wizarding families near Germany and in Germany dying, we can only lend zhem our prayers, and 'ope for a brighter future." This was said so seriously, and so bluntly, that it caused Abraxas to frown.

"So we can do nothing?" he spoke out.

"It ees not our war to defend," clarified Bierce sadly. "My fameely 'as suffered losses there, and still now. I 'ave lost a good quarter of my relatives in this Second World War, and even zhough the German Ministry of Magic is struggling to save Muggles and Wizard families alike, zhere are just too much; too many," he said quietly. There was a heavy amount of unease in the air, until Bierce coughed, and smiled once more, his earlier display of sorrow gone.

"Well, zhat ees the end of our lesson for today! I expect a good two parchments about zhe No Man's Land, oui?"

The bell rang, and through the jumble and chaos that ensued, Bierce shouted,

"Class dismissed!"

Abraxas calmly strode out of the comfortably gauzy chambers through the gaggle of students that followed. Dark Arts was on the fourth floor, through a narrow corridor that one had to actually sidle through. It wasn't actually Abraxas' choice way of getting into a classroom, but Dark Arts _was _his favorite subject after all. The Native American man sitting cross-legged on the desk was very tanned. His flowing black hair cascaded down to his waist, and his bangs were braided and beaded with coral beads and bones. Eyes were closed in a relaxed posture, but Abraxas knew better, after entering the classroom. He saw Professor Quidel Aiken's ears twitch, and suppressed a smile.

"First to come in class, as always, Abraxas," said Aiken passively, cracking a golden eye open to stare at his favorite student.

"Yes," replied Abraxas without a second thought. "I'm looking forward to creating curses and counter-curses as our project this year," he said truthfully.

"Good," was all Aiken said, as other students began to file in. "I hope you and your friends will create lethal spells, Abraxas."

Aiken's lithe body fluidly stood up, and he greeted his class with solemnity.

"I hope you all brought your first-aid kits today. We're going to duel each other. Cassius with Thasos, go."

Andrew Cassius, a weary-faced boy with amazing blue eyes reluctantly stood up. Alongside him was Dion Thasos, the living epitome of an angel. His whole body glowed with inner-beauty, and golden curls constantly covered his warm brown eyes, and every girl was tempted to be with the seraph. Except for one thing: Dion liked Aiken their teacher.

Aiken ignored Dion's flustered look and waved a hand.

And so, class begun.

7777777

By dinner, Harry was exhausted. Why? Well, he was busy punching the living daylights out of his pillow, imagining it to be Voldie-moldy's face. After he had gotten bored lazing about the Common Room, he had wandered back to the dormitories, landing face-first onto his bed.

He punched the pillow again, his glasses skittering off his face to clatter and break on the floor. He paid no attention to it however, too focused on his anger management to actually give a flying shite.

_Stupid, insensitive PRICK! _Harry gave the pillow a mean right hook, causing it to erupt in a pleasant shower of feathers. Although the poor thing had collapsed, Harry continued to punch it. Not only was Tom Riddle a literal arse to him, but he was—well, an arse! Harry grumbled a short, '_reparo', _and his pillow was back to its fluffy self again. He then began to pound it again.

Harry's confrontation with Tom had seriously taken a toll on his mental capabilities. Every thought was laced with ways to kill the would-be Dark Lord, or how to kiss those perfectly formed lips—wait. WAIT.

What-?!

Harry scowled, shaking his head. _No, that isn't right_, he thought to himself, standing up and stepping on his glasses. He paced.

There was no kissing Dark Lords in his agenda. He quickly checked his mental list.

Nope, there was nothing of the sort. So why would his mind suddenly fixate on the deliciously handsome Slytherin prefect—

Bloody. Hell.

Harry growled in frustration, then jumped onto his bed, returning to pound the snot out of his pillow. He couldn't even think of anything other than Tom! It was Tom this, or Tom that and—oh Tom, you look so way better than your older, snakier-counterpart!

With an aggravated howl, Harry buried his head into his hands. _Someone, please hex me happy now_, groaned Harry morosely.

Great. Even his thoughts were betraying him.

He had to wonder though, where his attraction to Tom sprouted from…

"ARGH!"

* * *

A/N: I'm fully aware that some of you are wondering when the Hell I'd update. Don't worry, I will. ;d And... about Caton—there was one _very _enlightening review. One that I can't help but say gave me ideas. It's a yes. ;o Yes, Caton is who you think he is. Nero doesn't even know that his Uncle is _the _Ashcroft, and he never suspected it. Heh, I wouldn't have either. xD And if you're also wondering when Harry will kiss the bloke he's most attracted to… that'll be next chapter. Oo

**Edit: Changed some things, added a lot of others, blah. **


	4. Intermission: Dawn Sets at Sorrow

**DISCLAIM IT: **_I don' own HP, damn it._

Interlude: _Dawn sets at Sorrow_

**WARNING: THIS IS GOING TO HAVE SLASHY SITUATIONS. Close to sex, maybe, but nothing too far as that. OO It's SEXUAL SITUATIONS boys and gals. Be AWARE of what you're going to get yourself into. I made this interlude way before the third chapter so, heh.  
**

**And don't inform FFNET. ;( For my sake.**

**HP/DM**

**Rated: M **(believe me, this is the only chapter that would contain it... unless people object, of course)**  
**

**READ ME: **On another quick note, I've just read Noir et Blanc's latest chapter, and I was surprised that the beginning sounded like a part I wrote here. OO Trust me, I've wrote this—err, well before that chapter came out, so it came as an utter surprise that anyone could have the same words. xx; I didn't plagiarize if you wanted to know. I just find it queer that we have the same writing thoughts. Great minds _do _think alike, I guess. x3 _05.17.07_

* * *

Harry wasn't one of the smartest kids on the block. In fact, as a testament to this particular statement, Harry finally admitted to himself that he was hopelessly lost—lost in the richer part of Slytherin Executive village. He scowled darkly as large, marble mansions loomed above the horizon. He felt strangely out of place with his dirtied sneakers, faded black pants and rumpled tee, and his irritation came out in anger, instead of skittishness. He self-consciously pulled his shirt down to smooth the crinkled edges, while striding across the spotless sidewalks. 

What was this place? A utopia? Harry thought, snorting; not bothering to hide his expression of disgust and envy away (although it came out more of a derisive sneer than anything.)

He carefully trotted over the grassy lanes, wary in case there were guard dogs situated near the expensive homes. Merlin knew that Harry could only run so fast.

As he walked past another large expanse of immaculately green lawns, Harry peered through the darkening sky, faintly wondering where everyone seemed to have gone. They vanished into thin air, as soon as he reached this place, and usually, from what he heard from his friend Hermione, this place was _bustling _with snooty people. He spotted a ramshackle mansion near Black Forest when the first signs of rain fell, and Harry's eyebrows furrowed, deliberating.

Sighing, Harry was not entirely up to asking the owners of a house for a place to stay. But as it was, Harry felt compelled to do so anyway. Stupid, no? Well, he had no time to berate himself for such idiocy, since water suddenly rushed from the darkened skies, pelting him with its iciness. Cool gusts of air chilled him, as he ran to the dimly lit building. In mere moments, Harry found himself at the front of the heavy oak door, pensively staring at the snake-like doorknob.

Honestly, he had no idea what possessed him to come to the shadowy mansion in the first place, but however, it seemed a decent place to rest.

Up close, it wasn't as bad as Harry had originally thought. The mansion walls were actually an ashen grey, made of stone. Marble pillars, three times the size of Harry's height made up the arches of the doorway, while trailing green vines slithered their way above. To Harry, this home screamed of age old architecture. He shifted uneasily, though reached over to timidly knock anyway.

No answer.

Harry tried again.

And still, no answer.

Impatient, Harry tried the knob, and to his surprise, before he could actually touch the silver gilded serpent, the door abruptly swung open.

A thin, gruff voice answered, making the hair on Harry's forearms stand on end. "Who goes there, aye?" it rasped, as light suddenly blinded Harry's vision. He blinked the water away and adjusted his foggy glasses. He stared down at a balding man, with a paunch to his stomach. His beady eyes gleamed eerily just as thunder boomed across the skies. Harry started, hands reflexively grasping for something that wasn't there.

"O-oh," he gulped, a deep pit in his stomach forming, as the man's eyes glued to something behind him. It was _uncanny. _ "I was just in the neighborhood," Harry began hesitantly, "and decided to look around. Err, I suppose I should just go now. Sorry to bother you, sir." Harry managed a proper contrite look.

For the first time that moment, the odd little man's eyes focused on Harry with deep clarity. Sharp, yellow teeth formed a smile, and Harry suppressed the cringe threatening to bubble out of him. "You won't be needin' ta do that, sir," said the man, forcefully ushering Harry inside, despite the water that drew around him in circles. The man continued, "The master says he wants a good lookit atcha, that he does, an' you betta be lettin' him, young stag. Now just let me warm a cuppa' tea, aye?" He shuffled to what was assumed, the kitchen, leaving a soaked, and shivering boy in the dimly lit entrance hall.

The heavy doors behind him slammed shut, and Harry jumped.

He could not seem to control the quiver in his stomach, as it finally seeped into his brain that he would be left alone. _All alone. _In a terrifyingly dark mansion like this. He sucked in two mouthfuls of air, before moving, his mechanical jerky movements the only tale-tell sign of his terror. Harry squashed the irrational fear racing in the back of his mind. It whispered to him that this was a trap, that he wasn't ready for anything yet. That it wasn't his _time _yet.

And perhaps, a little part of Harry knew that it was true. He wiped his glasses on his soggy shirt, and moved on.

Amazing wax figures of men lined the hallways; there were a good number of portraits painted to their likeness, and the clothes they wore awed Harry. As he strolled along the gloomy corridor, there were dour-looking men, sourly gazing down their long noses at him. There were beautiful men, their skin so perfect and porcelain that Harry ached to touch it and make sure that it was no mere illusion. But what made Harry stop in his tracks were the last two portraits at the end of the hallway.

The first being a dark haired man, with deathly pale skin. Haunting obsidian eyes complimented his otherwise long nose and angled cheek bones. Long eyelashes fluttered down the expanse of those smooth cheeks, while thin lips turned upwards in the barest hints of a smile. Harry held his breath, entranced. It was as if he was waiting for this man to…laugh? To smile for the first time? Harry shook his head, clearly perplexed. It was none of his business and definitely not worth his time to ponder about, anyway.

Worryingly enough, Harry felt those eyes trail after him, as he went farther and farther away, stopping only to gaze at the very last portrait.

This man was no-less stunning than the last.

Silver-blond hair feathered gently around a chiseled chin, and Harry sighed with undisguised envy. If the other man was darkly handsome, than this man was his polar opposite—an _angel, _Harry thought. He took in the soft-looking petal pink lips, curved upwards in one of the most gentle smiles Harry had the fortunate of seeing. Piercing silver eyes crinkled below arched eyebrows, giving him the illusion of inherent grace.

Harry very nearly swooned.

He fanned himself, reluctantly leaving the portrait room. He had a feeling that if had lingered there, those two portraits would have come to life.

And that was, perhaps, one of the last things Harry needed. Or wanted.

The sable-haired boy wandered aimlessly to a large chamber; the only thing illuminating the room being a roaring fireplace. And even if it was a bit clichéd in its decorations, Harry felt at ease. His shoulders slumped, and the tension flew out of his body, as he sagged onto the nearest chair. His head lolled to rest at the soft cushioning padding his seat, in a play of boneless actions.

He didn't notice how his clothes instantly dried.

Harry didn't notice when a figure appeared before the fireplace, silver eyes gleaming with dark intentions.

He didn't notice when the pale man stood before him.

And he definitely didn't notice when fingers trailed down his cheeks, to finally caress his lips.

Harry just _didn't _notice. He was too far-gone—it was as if he had been drugged when he stepped forth into these chambers. Admittedly however, Harry rather liked it here, in the big, cozy armchair. He breathed in deeply, smelling the heady scent emanating from the fresh pink roses besides the bookshelves. It reminded him of an aroma from a long time gone by. _Past life maybe, _Harry mused, lips curving, as the fingers became more insistent in their wanderings.

Warm, soft, and loving.

He sighed, tranquil; he leaned into the touch, glazed emerald eyes fixating on a pinpoint above the mantelpiece of sabers.

"Harry," a voice purred, and the man leaned in, nuzzling his cheek. "Don't you remember me, Harry?" it asked. It was so unbelievably smooth and chocolaty, like something out of a fantasy.

His eyes fluttered to a close. "I…" Harry said, crinkling his brow, "don't know you," he finished softly, confused.

"Har-_ry_," said the man in an indulgent tone, his pretty lips skimming down the length of Harry's jaw. But then, Harry hissed loudly as the man viciously bit down on his neck. Actually, to be honest, it came out to be more of a strangled moan than a hiss.

"I'll make you remember me," the man murmured, pressing an apologetic kiss on the bite.

A pale hand worked the zipper on his trousers, and Harry's eyes flew open. "W-wait!" he gasped, attempting to stand.

"No." The man pushed him down, silver eyes darkening to a near black. Helpeless (or could he have really done something?), Harry watched as the stranger continued to undo his trousers. Those soft hands then hastily pulled off the plaid shorts that were revealed. As cool air hit his erection, Harry swallowed back a moan, hips arching up on their own accord. He could feel the man smile against his thigh.

"Don't you remember this Harry? Of what we used to do?" asked the man, rubbing his nose on the hair above Harry's sizeable cock. Harry wet his lips, then shook his head in negative. His answer seemed to make the man sad for a moment, before those eyes of his brightened to a quick-silver. "There's no need to answer then," he muttered. "I'll make you remember this—I'll make you remember _us _Harry."

And he started.

Harry's mind shut off, as the man's mouth came in contact with his hard, sticky shaft. _When did I even get hard_? Harry vaguely wondered, as the man teased the head of his erection mercilessly. Darting licks and scorching kisses made Harry turn into a puddle of goo, and all he could do was let out these annoying sighs and groans. The man's tongue flicked his oozing slit—And _oh_, did that feel good!

"Mmm…ahhh, don't stop, please," he managed to choke out, hands tangling into the man's soft blond hair.

If he was capable of thinking, he'd chide himself.

What happened to his famous Potter control? The one which he was famous for?

But as the man's throat held him deeper, Harry couldn't help but sigh in pleasure. It felt so right somehow. So _good, _and so _complete._

"D-draco," He groaned, as Draco's tongue lapped at his sac, those soft hands gripping Harry's erection tightly, jerking him off at a leisurely pace. How Harry remembered that name was beyond him, at this moment. All he wanted was to _come_, to throw everything away with such abandon that it left him breathless and panting for more. Draco's eyes opened (when had they even closed? Harry thought), and a gentle smile reached those cupid bow lips.

"You remembered," Draco stated, letting out a wry chuckle. "I knew you would, Potter. Severus could only ever keep you away for so long."

Harry didn't bother to discern Draco's words, and all he could do was groan lowly in his throat. As Harry was about to thrust into that _welcome _heat, Draco was suddenly thrown off him with astounding force. Harry's moan of disappointment reached hollow ears, and he heard a dark chuckle through the haze o his distorted thoughts.

"Pull your trousers up, Potter," sneered a velvety voice. "It's unbecoming of a wizard like you to be so wanton like a mere whore." The last word was spat out, as if it caused Snape great pain.

"Get away from him, Severus!" yelled Draco, standing on his feet, eyes ablaze with fury. "You took him away from me in the first place—how could you?! You know… _You know he was my mate!_"

"QUIET!" The dark haired man bellowed, drawing up to his tall, willowy height of six two. "It was for the best, Draco—you couldn't have taken care of him in the frenzied state you were in! You probably have not even thought about the consequences of your dimwitted actions!" Snape spat hatefully. "Now out of my sight, you pitiful creature spawned from Hell itself! And _never _use your allure to get Potter again! Do you understand, _Draconis?_"

While Draco looked murderous and about to kill Snape, Harry took this time to recollect himself.

He took a deep breath, sorting the jumble that was his mind. He shook his head, then ruffled his hair. _What the hell just happened?_ He thought, frowning as he buckled his belt once more. A rush of memories hit him, and he realized with a start that he had been… saved by these two? When did all of that happen? Dizzy, Harry supported his head in his hands, eyes squinting shut from the burning pressure in his skull.

"No, Severus, wait-!" screamed Draco, darting in front of Harry to take the curse. But it was too late. The damage was already done.

"_Reminesco!" _shouted Snape, and Harry's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

He remembered…

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"_Harry?" A fleeting touch and a ghost of a smile carved itself onto an ancient face. "You were given another chance, my dear boy. Seize it, and destroy him. You know of who I speak."_

_The old man standing in front of him seemed wise and aged; his hair white and trailing to his stomach in long, bushy tendrils. Behind half-moon glasses, blue eyes twinkled fondly, and Albus spoke, "Defeat him, Harry, even if it means losing yourself."_

_And Harry screamed into the dark cell he was placed in Azkaban._

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"_Draco!" he laughed, and tackled the young aristocrat into the grass, tumbling both he and his lover over the hill. They both rolled down, their raucous laughter reaching the tops of the trees, and when they finally stopped, Harry lay atop of Draco, breathless._

"_Love you," he nuzzled his face into Draco's warm neck. He let out a soft chuckle, as long fingers combed through his hair._

"_Love you too," replied Draco, though his face was withdrawn, and his smile wavered._

_Even in spite of this, Harry still loved him._

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_"Don't take him away Severus, please," pleaded Draco, over the table._

_"I must," said the elder man quietly. "Your state is quite distressing Draco. Losing both your mother and father in this war has caused your veela inheritance to snap into full-drive. I cannot have you siphoning Potter's magic into yourself. Do understand—"_

_"BULLSHIT!" roared Draco, standing up suddenly. His chair toppled to the ground as he stared down at his tutor, tears in those _beautiful _silver eyes of his. "You promised to find a solution to my inheritance! Why, Sev, why-?" Draco croaked, hands covering most of his face. Through them, his muffled voice screamed, " I can't live without him, and he without me! I'll go bonkers, Sev! I'll be a loony without him by my side! Have you no mercy?!"_

_But Snape remained quiet, his features contorting to a look of pure sympathy._

_And Harry listened ever more closely, as the man added,_

_"You will cause him to die, Draco, if you let him live by your side."_

_And that was when both Harry and Draco's shoulders slumped in defeat._

_Draco cried for days._

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The onslaught of memories lasted all but a span of five minutes, and within those moments, Harry understood.

About Snape, about Draco, about _everything_.

Another universe, another time—Harry comprehended that these two men risked their lives to save him. To _allow him _to live—to defeat the man that they had once upon a time, worked for. Harry sobbed.

Then warm hands drew him into an embrace, and Harry struggled, Draco didn't let go.

And Snape looked on, hard black eyes softening as he gazed upon the two lovers from days before.

He swept out of the room in a swirl of black robes, leaving the reunited boys together.

And inwardly the dour man hoped—even if it were sappy to think so—that their love would transcend time.

_Forever._

* * *

A/N: I had to make something like this. OO It was a plot bunny from the top of my head, and if anyone wants to hear it and write after it, sure! And haha, they didn't go any farther. xD 

CHALLENGE BY XELDOMY (has to be slash, folks):

_Draco understood the complications of being a magical creature. Yes, he was a veela. Yes, there were attractive and undeniably great quirks. Yes he had to feed off the magic that surrounded him. But sad thing was what awakened his magical inheritance—it was the death of his beloved mother and father. His father had rotted away in Azkaban, and Narcissa—well she died from depression from being away from Lucius for too long. In spite of their steady visits to the top-notched Wizarding prison, Narcissa couldn't find the will to live on, seeing her husband slipping away before her very eyes._

_His mate was Potter, that he was sure of. He always got that shivery feeling from the blasted Gryffindor whenever he was around._

_However, one thing stopped his thinking. Potter was an imbecile. Yes, to this, it was true. The-boy-who-refused-to-drop-dead wasn't ready to face the Dark Lord. He wasn't ready to do _anything _remotely selfless. Even if he had the power of ten thousands fully-grown wizards; what good would it be if he had all the power in the world, but no control?_

_It just wasn't possible to tame his limitless magic, simply put._

_So Draco gave his sanity to the veela in him, in order for Harry to live a little while, and a little longer—even if it siphoned most of Harry's magic to Draco._

_What harm could there be? Potter had enough magic to last twelve lifetimes anyway._

…_Or so he thought, until Harry was sent to Azkaban, for the misuse of magic, Article 17 under clause seven._

"_**Magical Creatures of the first caste in the Wizarding Community, under the age of 21 are forbidden to do any acts of magic until the age of 25, to which they have to apply to be able to use a variety of magic…"**_

_Who would of known that Harry Potter was the only living Virdis for about sixteen hundred years? _

_And so, Draco and Severus take it upon themselves to free Harry, in spite of Draco's rapidly worsening condition. (Veela effects)_

Yeah, that's what I imagined it to be, sadly. I don't have much of an imagination when it comes to these things. ;o And well, it was just this story was my take on the ending of this particular plot bunny. I couldn't find the time to write a whole damn saga (God knows who does), so I just scribbled up this one-shot. Hope it wasn't too mental for you folks. xP

Another twist it could have:

_"And it seemed, as if Enow was still alive…?"_

_"You _can't _be him, Harry! He died over sixteen centuries ago!"_

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**AUTHOR'S FOOTNOTES**

_Reminesco – To remember_

_Virdis – Rare Magical Creature of astounding power. Rumoured to be a relation to a myth similar to that of a selkie. The last Virdis was a man named Enow Fore. Virdis literally translates to 'green' in latin. (For me, green means power and magic sooo… that's why I chose that word xD)_


	5. R is for you being so Recheré

_**DISCLAIM IT: **_I don't own HP. So stop pressuring me.

A/N: I see my last two works haven't been a hit. Yeah, yeah, boring stuff. Especially HPDM, but WHATEVER. xD I thought it was bloody brilliant, and that's all that counts. Btw, Squick, I'm in the process of making your one-shot fic. It'll be posted err… later. It's HTR, and it's a crack fic. Tommy thinks he's sexy! oo And, err, some people complained about the 'interlude' so I took it into heart and changed the word into 'intermission'. There, happy now?

**ANDDDDD….**This chapter was inspired by one of my favorite authors ever. I hope she gets an award, because she f'en inspires me, and that's a lot!

_**DISCLAIM IT THE SECOND: **_The haiku that Snape recites is one by Fujiwara no Kiyosuke. I make no money from it. ;-(

**And the last name ****Ashcroft**** was based off of CVX's crazy family, the "Ashford's". The one with the freaks Alfred and Alexia… if you've played Code Veronica, you would've spotted it easily. Although they have no relation to that game, I only used the last name because of a nice, twisted ring to it. ;d**

* * *

More Info:

Tom Marvolo Riddle: The big cheese. The Kahuna. The one with the cigar smoking the pot. Yes, _the _Tom. He's silent, has a dry sense of humor, and can be a circumstantial sadist. He's not really one of those talkative guys, but get him in the right mood and he is. While Alphard is morally fuckable, this man is _sex on legs. _ He's reputably the most handsome Slytherin to grace the hallways of Hogwarts—of course, granted that he's of dark haired beauty and not light-haired, like the Malfoys.

And did you know, the dim sum food in China town is named: WANTON. Pronounced (one-ton). I hope you guys know that it tastes swell, hahahaha. I just found out a few days ago how to spell it, and boy did I really laugh my ass off.

**Sorry for not updating fast enough! xd**

**Btw, the beginning of the chapter seems a bit different than the last. More angsty and much more detailed—but that's because it's in Alphard's point of view.**

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Alphard strode into the Great Hall, amidst the points, the whispers, and the occasional glances sent his way. He smiled graciously to them, seated himself next to his friends, and poked at his food. As usual.

Silence between the five of them—now six, due to Harry's presence—was scarce, but sometimes needed. They all broiled in their thoughts, wondering faintly if this was what it felt like to be burned inside out without any care in the world, like some ignorant peasant. Then again, they all knew in some way that it was normal. Normal is as normal comes, after all.

Alphard managed to bite a bit of his food, as Nero, Harry, and Caspar began talking of their classes together. Abraxas and Tom remained silent; becoming their speculative audience, the keen flash of intelligence in their strange eyes.

"I'd like to think…"

"No, no, professor is just…"

"Well that makes sense…"

Alphard liked to think that some whispers were about him. That the girls in his table bent their heads together, and said to themselves in those girly-ish voices of theirs:

"Why, he's so thin…"

"And he barely touches his food…"

"No wonder why he has such a figure…"

"You think Orion—I mean, William is like that too?"

"No, no, it can't be…"

Managing another bite of his food, Alphard listened intently, unaware that Harry's eyes trailed to him, green eyes weighing, judging. What was it to him that people stared? It made him feel good. Better than being laughed at, or scorned at, like what his parents and relatives did at home.

"Alphard?"

A small voice broke through his reverie, and Alphard started, swiveling his cobalt blue gaze to Caspar's brown ones. Those eyes regarded him worriedly, before its owner asked, "Alphard, are you all right?"

He forced a smile. His thoughts were his own, and even if they differed everyday, there'd always be some resemblance to the last pattern.

"Yes, I'm all right. Just…thinking, I guess," he answered with a flamboyant smile. This seemed to pacify the auburn-haired boy, and Caspar turned, sending Alphard a warm grin. He then focused on Nero's words of wisdom. Unknown to Harry, every night in the Great Hall, for the past two years, Nero recited words for the entire student body to hear. While it was true that Nero Snape wasn't at all very liked, it was also true that he was very much intelligent.

Nero's chocolaty voice rang through the Hall:

"_I may live on until  
I long for this time  
In which I am so unhappy,  
And remember it fondly."_

Nero sat down again, flushing to the roots of his hair, and to this, Alphard chuckled. Two years of doing this, and still, Nero was shy. It was almost adorable. When Headmaster Dippet stood up and applauded the young Slytherin, many others did also, but they were subdued, the meaning of the haiku a puzzle to most. It puzzled even Alphard, but it didn't surprise him. Most things (for him) were hard enough to figure out anyway.

Harry was once again staring, and Alphard grinned lightly in his direction, fluttering long eyelashes coyly.

"Like what you see, Harry?" he said, eyes curving.

Flustered, Harry shook his head, then thought better of it and shrugged. "There's just something," Harry said, a bewildered expression plastered onto his face. "I can't seem to stop staring at you."

"You mean my lips," finished Alphard, smiling as Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Yes, I guess that's right," the green-eyed boy mumbled. "You think it's the wake-me-up hex?"

"Probably," butted Nero in, suppressing his snigger. "So what are you going to do now, Ashcroft?"

"…Kiss him?" said Harry weakly, fixing his glasses back onto his nose.

"Well then, go on ahead, kiss me!" Alphard demanded, leaning over the table to present his lips. He winked playfully and told Harry, "Don't worry, I don't bite!" But then he whispered suggestively, saying, "Only in bed!"

Harry blinked. "I don't think," he said slowly, "that the compulsion is enough for me to kiss you there." To prove this statement, Harry pecked Alphard on the cheek, his slightly chapped lips causing the handsome Black to shudder. Pulling away, Harry bit back a smile at Alphard's dreamy look. "That's all you're going to get," he teased, erstwhile trying to fend off Caspar's fork assault. Alphard's cheeks tinged, and he slumped in his seat in disappointment.

And he was expecting so much more too.

Caspar grudgingly stopped harassing Harry, when the boy had shouted and said, "Alphard's all yours, Caspar! Just _stop it_ with the forking, okay?!" The brown-eyed youth sniffed and muttered a, "Damn right," under his breath, much to Abraxas, Tom, and Nero's amusement. Abraxas and Nero even shared a laugh, but then caught themselves and turned away, coughing.

Alphard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Really, those two… He caught Tom's bemused glance, and nodded to him, the older boy breaking out into a ghost of a smile. So he wasn't the only one who knew, either.

Even afterwards, Harry seemed the most amused by them all, as they set off, back to the dreary dungeons of Hogwarts. He trudged with a skip to his step, and Nero grumbled that it 'just wasn't right to be that chipper in the evenings'. Harry just laughed it off, almost bumping into Tom, who shoved Harry off him like the plague. To everyone else, it looked like a reflex, but to Alphard's knowing gaze, it was one of defense. Sporting a hurt look that he quickly wiped away a split second later, Harry continued skipping on ahead, laughing at Nero's sullenness, Caspar's possessiveness, and everyone else's—well, just for being themselves. Through narrowed cobalt eyes, Alphard watched Harry's forced interactions.

_Hmm, strange_.

His observations were further taken, when Tom gave Harry furtive glances underneath his lashes. Even weirder was that Harry returned them, but never realized that Tom was doing the same. It all gave the young aristocrat a bloody headache.

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"Tom doesn't look so good, does he, Nero?"

There was a faint grunt. "If you mean it's because he just fainted, then yes, but if you think otherwise, then perhaps we should get your brain analyzed."

"Nero!"

"Caspar!" mocked the dark-haired boy, sneering. He watched as Caspar prodded Tom's face, and the boy flushed, recoiling slightly.

"What now?" drawled Nero. "Afraid he might bite you?"

"No," said Caspar hastily, composing himself. "His skin is soft."

Nero just rolled his eyes and muttered a feather-light spell, gathering the three-inch-taller seventh year into his arms.

Since they had returned to the Common Room (amidst Harry's complaints that it took him hours to get there), they all split up. The first group, he, Caspar, and Tom had gone to the southern shower rooms to tidy up; the second group, Alphard, Harry, and Abraxas had gone to the western ones. They were much more lavish than the southern bathing chambers anyway, and Merlin knew how long it took Alphard to bathe.

When they had reached the showers, Tom had muttered a soft, "I don't feel very well," and fainted on the spot, near the large oval bath. Luckily, their Headboy didn't bash his head on the edges, lest they'd have to deal with a _very bloodied _Tom. And to be honest, Nero didn't have the heart to see a gruesome scene like that.

"Maybe… Maybe we should take him to Madam Swithin?" spoke Caspar tentatively, as they made it out of the Dungeons and into the corridors. Nero let out a snort and shifted Tom's weight to his left arm, not bothering to answer.

"Nero?"

"What?" he growled out, annoyed. They passed Sir Cadogan's portrait (Caretaker Rob had placed him near the Dungeons for disrupting Hufflepuff students) and the obnoxious knight started to harass them.

"Knaves! How dare thee defile—"

Nero ignored him, and kept on walking, as did Caspar.

"Art fobbing idle-headed skirt-gillies, come now and confront thine in a battle of wits! Halt witherward while you still can, you sequacious knaves!"

Caspar sent a discomfited look to Nero, as Sir Cadogan yelled another petty insult.

"…We are taking Tom to Madam Swithin, right?"

"Yes," he said shortly, turning sharply to his left. "Where else do you expect him to be, other than the Hospital Wing?"

"Erm, at the Headmaster's?" Caspar tried, smiling weakly when Nero grunted again. Sir Cadogan seemed to stalk the both of them, and the barmy knight pointed his lance at Nero resentfully. The dark-haired boy sneered, his upper lip curling, but continued onwards, regardless.

"Wrong," Nero said, "If you hadn't notice at dinner, Tom didn't eat at all—"

"Like Alphard?" interrupted Caspar, brightening.

"The aristocratic lad with brilliant eyes?" Sir Cadogan supplied helpfully.

Nero heaved a sigh at the two. "Yes, like Alphard. But unlike anorexic lover boy there, Tom looked a bit peaky. I'd say it was because of his excursion to the Forbidden Forest yesterday."

"What?"

"You heard me," spoke Nero darkly, just as the torches above them flickered ominously. "He went last night to Ovin, remember? They were trying to teach him elfish runes, but it looked as though an acromantula got to him first, so I deduce that he had to backtrack. He'll probably go back tonight, after Madam Swithin heals him."

"Those giant spiders, you say? Quite the intimidating creature!" said Sir Cadogan, squaring his shoulders. "Why, when I was still alive, there were many of them—"

Caspar gawped, momentarily standing there like an oaf. "You mean… he did—and how did you know?!" sputtered the auburn-haired youth, thankfully putting a stopper to Sir Cadogan's ramblings.

"It was fairly obvious," Nero responded dryly, pulling Caspar to another corridor and leaving Sir Cadogan to seethe there by himself. "Last night he came back to our dormitories, bleeding—I only took notice of it in the morning," he explained. "The blood seemed to have stopped flowing; however, I'm positive the poison did not."

"Well that makes sense," mumbled Caspar, as they finally reached the Hospital Wing. The immaculately whitened room they shuffled into was occupied by a charming lady, graying in her temples. Long, chestnut hair was put into a messy braid, and the nurse clucked, seeing Tom. Many younger years had taken to getting hurt often, just to see the pretty woman, but she turned most away, if their 'wounds' were (what she found to be) quite superficial.

"Got into a right mess, did he boys?" she asked, levitating Tom onto one of the soft, fresh beds.

"Yes ma'am," they chorused.

Caspar elaborated, sitting next to his friend's prone form. He gently took Tom's white hand and smoothed it into his own. "He fainted when we got to the showers," Caspar said. "I don't think he feels good either, since he hasn't woken up yet."

"Genius," stated Nero loudly. "I never would have thought of that either." Caspar glared, and Nero returned it with a glower of his own.

"Now boys," she admonished. "No fighting in the Healing wing!"

"Yes ma'am," they chorused again, though this time, a little grudgingly.

Madam Swithin swept past them, grabbing vials of potions in the cabinet above her desk. "What do you think happened to him?" she said, pointedly asking Nero, the potions genius. Caspar felt a little left out, so he petted Tom's hands and fussed over him.

"Probably got attacked by something poisonous," he told her, pointing at Tom's blue-tinged lips.

"Good deduction, Mister Snape!" said Madam Swithin, beaming. "Twenty points to Slytherin—now help me look for that antidote, both of you!"

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"Patricia Bryant and George Writrow do _not _make a good couple!" argued Abraxas, pushing wet silver-blond hair behind his ear. "Patty's just a tatterdemalion woman underneath all those clothes!" He scowled over at the lounging Black on the corner of the large tub, elbow nudging Harry to agree with him—Harry only shrugged.

"Two blondes make a right, after all!" said Alphard loudly, brushing Abraxas off without a care in the world.

"No they don't," piped-up Harry, snorting in a vain attempt to stifle his laughter. "They just make blonder." He crooked a finger at Abraxas and said, "And there's your proof right there."

Abraxas protested. "They do not! And besides," he sniffed, "my mother has auburn hair and my father, flaxen."

"Same thing, same color palette." Alphard waved a hand dismissively, causing Abraxas to bristle in annoyance.

"I'll have you know that—"

"Hey, do you hear something?" spoke up Harry, craning his head to listen to the pattering footsteps from the entrance.

"Not really, why?" asked Alphard, swimming to where Harry and Abraxas were and pushing up, so his elbows rested onto the marble floor.

"Because, you great big oaf, someone else is here," said Abraxas nonplussed. "All though I don't have the faintest clue who." He again, scowled down at Alphard and smacked those wandering golden hands away from his body. "And get your perverted appendages away from me, you ninny-witted pervert."

"Abraxas!" the cobalt-eyed boy whined. "That was cruel—and what did you mean by that? There's no one by the door!"

"You mean little ole' me?" stated a shadow of a voice, speaking in vague amusement. Alphard squealed loudly, and jumped into Abraxas' open arms. The blond's expression visibly soured, as Professor Caton stepped through the doorway. Whether it was because Alphard clung to him, or the professor, none knew. Time seemed to have stopped, as the older man glided to the naked boys and smiled at them in a predatory manner, showing bright, white teeth.

And suddenly, time moved.

Alphard, Abraxas, and Harry all scrambled, their lithe limbs flailing in the water.

"HEY!"

"HOLY SHITE!"

"HIDE ME!"

"STOP TOUCHING ME THERE!"

"IT WASN'T ME!"

"THEN STOP IT, FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!"

They all struggled to the deeper parts of the bath, dutifully covering the bottom halves of their bodies. When they finally stopped to stare, wide-eyed and flushed at their professor, the man only smiled, squatting down.

"I suppose," he began in a nonchalant tone, "I should tell you why I'm here."

"That'd be a start," muttered Harry, shocked emerald eyes latching straight onto their teacher, unwavering.

"I just wanted to tell you my full name," the older man said simply.

"But was it necessary to do that while we were bathing?" snapped Abraxas, ever the blunt one in the group.

"Not really, no. I just wanted to see your reactions." Caton smiled again, making the boys shiver.

"Then go on, tell us, sir," said Alphard, after being reluctantly pried off from Abraxas' torso. He pouted and clung to Harry instead. The green-eyed boy didn't seem to mind.

"And then when you're done with that, scram, because we need privacy," Abraxas said, eyeing Professor Caton in distaste. Now he knew there was another pervert to shy away from.

"Right, right boys. Don't worry; your virtue is safe with me." There was a fleeting smile on Caton's face as he watched them flush in embarrassment. "At any rate, my full name is Miele Ashcroft Caton. Lord heir to the Ashcroft lineage, second prestigious family in all of Europe, next to the Malfoy clan."

Silence reigned for a few moments, in which the boys took time to give each other sidelong looks and uneasily eye their pruned hands in mortification.

Harry pretended to have an epiphany, as he accio'ed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist. "O-oh, well you look at the time, you guys… I have to—you know, get some shuteye, do my beauty-routine and all…" he trailed off, seeing their skeptical looks. He coughed. "It was nice taking a bath with you people and… eurm, bye!" he squeaked and tried to run past his professor, to no avail. The man stood as solid and as firm as the great mesa plain in Australia. Inside, Harry wailed like a baby without their pacifier.

"You are not going anywhere, Harry," the man purred, pining the panicky boy down with his eerie eyes. "Not unless you tell me—"

"You mean 'us!' chimed in Alphard, soaking lonesome-ly in the baths on his own. Abraxas was already out, grumbling and picking his wrinkled uniform up. He gave a withering glare in Alphard's direction, whilst trying to tie his tie, and the only thing Alphard did was grin shit-facedly in return.

Caton laughed, and corrected his earlier statement, "Tell _us_ the truth. And the whole truth."

"And nothing but the truth, so help ye God!" shouted Alphard.

Abraxas could only throw his expensive leather shoe at him in annoyance. "Act your age, Crouch," he snapped.

Recovering from that clout to the head, Alphard growled in mock-anger and pounced at the disheveled blond, both of the Slytherins rolling to the floor in a tangle of long limbs and curses.

"Well I don't need to _act _my age, _Snape_!"

"DAMNIT BLACK!" Abraxas howled, getting a hand up his shirt. He slapped at it wildly, then rolled over and pinned his best friend to the cold marble. "YOU INFURIATE ME LIKE NONE OTHER!"

"YOU STARTED IT, ABRAXAS!" Alphard retaliated by throwing the looming Malfoy over his shoulder and pulling the long blond hair with it. There was a yelp, a muffled curse, then another howl of frustration from Abraxas, who also pulled Alphard's hair in return. Dirty tactics. Both Harry and Caton noted that they fought like girls over a marriage bouquet. The two made no move to help, fearing for their own scalps. And as they watched, eyes wide, Abraxas had pinched Alphard's nose and proceeded to try and suffocate the tall, dark haired teen. ("Harry, maybe we should leave…"

"No, I don't think we could get out of the door if they stay in front of the hallway leading to it…")

"ONLY BECAUSE YOU'RE AN IDIOT!" Abraxas yelled, his hand batted away by Alphard. ("I think we should turn around now… This looks quite violent."

"You're telling me…")

"WELL I WOULDN'T BE AN IDIOT IF YOU WEREN'T SO MEAN!"

"MEAN?! AT LEAST I'M MATURE!"

A shuffle of feet, then a splash of water.

"WITH A TWELVE-FOOT STICK UP YOUR ARSE!" gasped Alphard, breaking out of the lukewarm bubbly bath and glaring at Abraxas.

"BETTER THAT THAN A CONSTANT HARD-ON!" Abraxas retorted, dunking the inky black headed boy back into the water. With another intake of breath, Alphard was back up, cobalt blue eyes nearly a liquid blue from his infuriation. ("Ooh, that line was a good one."

"Aren't you supposed to be the mature one? I mean, you _are _my professor."

"Point taken.")

"WHY YOU—"

Harry finally managed to tune them out, amidst Caton's humorous comments.

He could (unfortunately) feel the headache developing in his temple, and resigned himself to hearing his professor's rant in a few mere moments. Meanwhile doing his best to ignore his two friends' antics, Harry sidled up next to his teacher, pulled the tall man to his feet, and pushed him to the Slytherin dorm room, where he knew it would be quite empty.

Caton raised an elegant eyebrow, awaiting his explanation. So Harry breathed in deeply and said,

"My real name."

He paused, feeling a curious, although dubious stare.

"Is really… none of your business."

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For being a new 'transfer student', the last two days of Harry's life was filled with such mishap and trouble, that he wondered if it was all worth it. After his conversation with Professor Miele—Caton, he mentally corrected himself; the man had taken him to the Hospital Wing and had deposited him there, saying in his Spanish accent,

"One of your friends is there, sick. Shouldn't you stay with him to make sure he is all right? After all, you look like him, and Nero and Caspar cannot lounge around there all day. They have permanent classes, whereas you aren't really expected to attend them, if any at all…"

Apparently, the man had already been informed of Harry's circumstances. The only reason Miele had told him of his full name, was to let Harry realize that _yes_, there were people who had the same last name, and _no _not many people could fully comprehend the meaning and legacy of the "Ashcroft" name.

Sitting there, next to Tom's bed and watching his chest rhythmically fall up and down, Harry vaguely mused if this was how it felt like to watch over someone. Most of the time, it was him on the bed, and Ron and Hermione looming over him, worried expressions etched onto their faces. He shrugged off the guilty feeling that associated with the mention of his two friends. He was here now, and there was nothing he could do about it, except to wait and see if the current Headmaster could find a solution to anything.

Tom stirred, bringing a pillow up, between his legs. He then shifted into a ball, hugging the soft cushion to his upper body.

Harry stifled a chuckle. _Well, lookit here_, he thought morosely, running a hand through his messy hair. _Moldywart having an almost human moment. Ron would be having an aneurysm by now, and Hermione would be philosophically pondering on how it was even possible. _He sat down onto the hard chair, and closed his eyes, drifting off into peaceful slumber.

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With a groan, Harry buried his face into his hands, trying to shield the (real) sunlight away from his eyes. "Augh, get that away from me."

"No can do, Ashcroft. It's real this time," spoke Tom from the bed, causing Harry's eyes to immediately snap open.

He then groaned again. "Merlin, next time, warn me when you're going to talk, all right? So I can avoid near eye-blinding occurrences like these."

"I take it you're not a morning person."

"Not morning, just sunlight in particular," groused Harry, rubbing the crusty feeling away from his eyes and sighing. "Feeling any better?"

"I suppose," answered Tom, levelly. "Madam Within _did _feed me with potions and charm me better. Although she wants me to keep this," he indicated the bandage of his head with a sluggish raise of the hand. "She wants it to be a reminder that I shouldn't play with poisonous beings."

"Acromantula?"

"You got it."

"Shouldn't you be officially dead by now, though?"

"Not exactly." Tom shrugged. "My body is… special, I guess. I think it comes with being a parseltongue. You're impervious to most—if not all—poisons."

_Good thing I'm one_¸ Harry thought, relieved. But then his mind went back to the Basilisk incident in second year. "How about Basilisk poison?" he asked, not wanting to gape at Tom for admitting that he could talk to snakes.

Tom stared blankly, then promptly answered, "Probably, if you speak the right words."

"Right words…?" Harry questioned, raising an eyebrow. He popped a mint into his mouth, wordlessly offering some to Tom, who took one gratefully.

"Yes, right words," Tom said. "If it comes from a reptilian being, I think you can just talk to the wound where the poison was injected in, and make it _not _poisonous. It worked for me once," explained Tom eloquently. He shrugged again. "However, I wasn't too sure about the whole Acromantula thing. Being a parselmouth only makes the poison slower, if it doesn't come from a reptile."

"Nice."

"Indeed, a slower way to die."

Harry covered his awkward cough up, averting his gaze from Tom's exotic sea-green eyed stare.

"So why are you even here, Ashcroft?" Tom asked softly, a tense moment later.

"Professor Caton brought me here, after Caspar and Nero left. Seems like I'm not really needed for any of my classes, seeing as though I'm up to date on the whole course." Harry wasn't lying. In his sixth year he had taken advanced courses, due to the fact that the whole Wizarding world was pressuring him to defeat Voldemort faster. He guessed that Dippet already saw his lack of motivation in studying, so instead, let him do as he pleased. Harry didn't mind that one bit. In fact, it made him feel slightly better about the whole ordeal of—waking up in an entirely different timeline.

"I…you know that—don't think I'm doing this because I care," Harry suddenly said, snapping out of his thought. "I, you know, don't. Because I don't know you well," he added lamely. _So articulate Harry. Hermione would surely have no problem answering that question! _He beat himself up with a metal stick inside his head.

Tom managed to chuckle. "I didn't quite think so, Harry."

And Harry doubted it, but didn't (_more like couldn't_, he bitterly thought) say it out loud.

* * *

**Yeah, thanks for reading. ;d I'm in the process of writing like three different kinds of fictions about HP, although I don't think I'll post them until I have the whole chapters finished (duh). Just… read and relax, tell me if you like it, dislike it, etc. Not like I can change your opinions anyway. ;)**


	6. I for the Iff in our Relationship

_**DISCLAIM IT: **__I don't own HP. JKR does. She even owns those unfortunate and very disappointing movies._

**FIRST A/N**: Sorry, I seriously have no excuse for not updating. All I have to say is that school has just begun, and I had to study like hell for exams. Yeah, whatever.

Chapter Title: _I, for the iff in our relationship_

Chapter Rating: _K+_

Warnings: The usual jazz. SLASH, and perhaps even randomness.

**Extra A/N**: Okay, well, I've gotten some weird PMs and reviews about how chapter 4 isn't related to the story. _IT ISN'T. _ DUH. That's the whole point of it. It's just a story that I wrote for my own amusement. It does explain some things, like my view on some characters…huh, maybe I'll make a story about Draco and Harry like that, then? Oh well—never good at making promises anyway. I have a penchant for adding randomness to my stories. ;(

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September went by, as did the first few boring weeks of October. It was fast becoming the week before Halloween, and Harry had decided that if he were to live in the past—then he'd forget most of the things about _his_ time. It was only right after all, he had thought. In any case, there were visible signs of the upcoming winter, from the occasional dreary rainfall and chilly temperature. Most students, including Tom, had already taken up to wearing their scarves and sweaters to ward off the chill. What Harry found most amusing though, was Caspar. The short boy seemed to bundle up in fifteen different articles of clothing, all just to stay comfortable.

On a bright October afternoon, as he was lying on the Common Room couch, his head on Tom's lap ("It's just a headache, really," he had assured the handsome boy, who looked worriedly on), Caspar had hobbled in, dressed in three thick jackets and heavy black boots. There was a large, white beanie on his head that covered his eyebrows, and the long, dark blue windbreaker he wore went up to his hands, also shielding them from view.

Tom and Harry's first reaction was to gawk, then to wonder about Caspar's sanity.

"Why in Merlin's beard, are you wearing so many garments, Caspar?" queried Tom, dog-earing the page he was on, to send the auburn-haired boy a slightly exasperated look. He was reading, "_After the Storm_" by T.S. Arthur. Surprising though it was, Harry never questioned Tom on his muggle tastes.

Caspar wrung his hands together and twiddled his thumbs. "It's because I get sick often in fall and winter, Tom," he explained very slowly, voice muffled from the scarf he had over his chin. He looked to be a walking body of warmth, with three varied, but just as expensive cloaks wrapped around his small body. The only visible thing about him was his sparkling melichrous eyes, a great contrast to his pale skin. Wisps of auburn hair fluttered gently around his face, as he gave Harry a superior nod. "Father says I should stay in health and avoid 'unhealthy things'."

"And there's a reason why he says those things," Tom commented with a chuckle, not so-subtlety referring to Alphard.

Caspar looked affronted. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

Their Headboy's lips curved into a crooked grin, taking most of the heat from his earlier statement. "Nothing, that's all."

"I'd like to think so," cut-in Harry, eyebrows raised. He didn't press afterwards, but still took vague amusement in watching Caspar shuffle around in his cavern of warmth.

"Just don't mind him," furthered Alphard dismissively, patting the seat besides him during their History of Magics Class. "Ever since he caught pneumonia last year, he's become a health nut." Caspar, oblivious to what the dark haired boy was speaking of (seeing as though he sat five seats away from Harry and Alphard), sneezed, but shrugged it off, after gaining a "Merlin bless you" from Nero. It seemed like Caspar wasn't lying about his physical condition.

Harry took the offered seat. "Mind him, why should I be? I think it's all actually quite funny," stated Harry, placing his books on the rickety table that hadn't been fixed for a long time. What Harry found extremely annoying was that the school's caretaker, Rob, wasn't doing a good job of keeping the classes orderly. He had even complained in _person _to the glass-eyed old geezer. All he got was a blank stare and a bark of, "Yea best be going back to your classes, youngin', before I tell your head of house." He had quickly walked away and vowed never to bump into the wrinkly, squinty-eyed man again.

"It's not an everyday thing, to see a fellow classmate in an onion's layer of warmth," was all Alphard said with a mysterious air, an enchanted smile on his face. He remained silent throughout the entire class, even when Abraxas pestered him for an extra quill. His eyes remained stalwartly secured on Caspar, and Harry suppressed a triumphant grin, though Nero and Abraxas both too, suppressed twin groans of frustration. They together knew that they wouldn't be getting anywhere with Alphard now chasing Caspar, and not the other way around.

Behind his back, as he was walking to Transfiguration, Harry heard Abraxas saying in a dismal tone, "Winter, _always_ the romantic season."

There was a light scoff. "You'd think that Alphard would be severely attracted to Caspar during February, since it's the season of Romance, or some shite like that," Nero muttered darkly. "But no, he's not. He only ever moons over him when he's bundled up in seventeen layers of clothing."

"It must be the passion vogue. The one where they have this forbidden love craze," reasoned Abraxas agreeably. "It's as if the more Caspar hides himself, the more Alphard's attracted. I have this hypothesis that the more Caspar clings to Alphard, the more Alphard acts…" The flaxen-haired youth floundered, then finally said through knitted eyebrows, "_aloof_, about their relationship."

"I see..."

"I hope you do."

"Yes, well talk about a closet case."

"Tell me about it."

Imagining the two exchanging looks of utter comprehension, Harry outright laughed at their own attraction problems.

When it came for the noontime bell, students milled around the corridors, ducking into the corners and other nameless, empty hallways, trying in vain to find a better route to the Great Hall. Tom still had another class to go before lunch (being a year older than them and all), and that left the boys with one free period until he came around. So they all agreed on thinking of a place where they all could hang out. But, from all five boy's heads, only three (not including Harry's) were working properly during their last session.

Alphard had sighed throughout the whole Transfiguration class, shooting looks of utter adoration to Caspar, who as always, remained oblivious. Professor Dumbledore had even joked that Alphard would transfigure his own hand into a rose if it were possible. Much to _everyone's _surprise, there was no reaction from the dark-haired boy. ("You think it's because he's in a love mood, Abraxas?"

"Nero, it's pretty obvious, by the way he falls off his chair every time Caspar flips his hair."

"Yeah—oops!"

"Now boys…the lemon drops are _not _a candy to be toyed with! Ten points from Slytherin for transfiguring them into _GUMDROPS!"_)

Even Nero and Abraxas seemed in the 'holiday' mood, Harry noted. The two both worked together on their advanced assignment, cracking small jokes and sending the other fleeting smiles. Harry had always known they were the brightest in their year, but he never really saw anything that indicated it until now.

Eventually though, Caspar had insisted, while trying in vain to transfigure his handkerchief into a washcloth, on going to the Cliff, where the lone tree and harpy statues were. The others, including Harry, hadn't had the heart to disagree with him—it wasn't as if they _had_ anything much to do in the first place. Thus, with some reluctance and a lot of groaning from Abraxas, they took their lunch there, munching half-heartedly on the turkey sandwiches along the dirt pathway.

"I don't understand why I had to come," groused Abraxas, hair whipping about him. He ended up tying the platinum strands up into a loose ponytail, much to his annoyance.

"Because," said Alphard patiently, "if you didn't come, you'd miss seeing how Caspar has weird tastes." He jogged to catch up to the shorter boy, and leaned over, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Isn't that right, my little hubbub?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

"Shut up," said Caspar instantly, with no heat in his voice.

Harry laughed, and Nero sniggered, while Abraxas looked uninterested in their banter.

Caspar's insanely large boots made a thick sloshing sound in the mud, and his face held a mow to it. "I only wanted to see the Lake today," he replied glumly, dragging his feet across the small stones littering the path. "From what I've heard, the Lake is really pretty today."

"And we came here only for that?" was Abraxas' derisive response. Everyone readily ignored his outburst.

"This time of year Harry," said Caspar, gesturing to the shining body of water besides them, "the Cliff is one of the most romantic spots ever; although most couples never venture out here in fear of the 'curse'. I never actually believed it myself, but Nannette does," Caspar added in an inflective tone.

"You mean the tall girl from Ravenclaw?" said Nero, dark eyes lighting up at the prospect of Nanette knowing Eileen Prince. She was a highly gifted witch in Potions, and was in her final year at Hogwarts. There were rumors saying that she was accepted as the brightest witch in _Potions Today_. Nero had taken a liking to the dark haired witch, with skillful hands and blotchy white skin.

That was when Abraxas' face had taken a downturn and darkened, his silver eyes sparked with anger. "Yes, the tall girl from Ravenclaw that knows Eileen," he sneered.

Nero, again disregarding Abraxas' statement, smiled dreamily. "Oh, I know I'm good with potions, but I wish she'd tutor me before she left!" he said, sighing in a wistful manner. "I can only hope."

"Right," Abraxas murmured, glowering.

Harry rolled his eyes and lightly punched the blond in the arm, earning a moody glare in return. "You need to lighten up, seriously," said Harry. He then bent forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Or else Nero might suspect of how hard you're crushing on him." Harry then laughed and danced out of Abraxas' reach, making sure to dodge the kick aimed his way.

"I am so going to kick your arse, Ashcroft!" Abraxas yelled, chasing the tanned boy down the pathway, nearing the clearing where the large, grey statues were.

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The statues, were in fact, quite living, but had taken a liking to acting inanimate. From what Harry had found out, the Harpies giggled often, and plucked at anyone's hair when they weren't looking. He absentmindedly smoothed his own disheveled hair down and said, "Caspar, you mentioned something earlier about a curse?"

"Oh?" Caspar's head shot up, and his eyes gleamed.

"No, don't ask him to tell us a story!" exclaimed Abraxas suddenly, though he knew his objections were futile. Everyone ignored his two cents anyway.

"And why not?" said Harry curiously. "It's not as if he's a motor mouth, is he?"

"No," said Abraxas miserably, tugging his sleeves. "But he really does take a long time to tell his stories. And we really have to get back to class in time…"

"But the way he tells them is really good," Alphard interjected, sending a charming smile to Caspar.

Caspar smiled back, but shrugged a second later to Harry's questioning glance.

"Well, what do you think, Nero?" asked Harry at last. There was silence for a few moments, until Nero sighed audibly.

"I think," he said slowly, pointing to a figure skulking on the lower curve of the path, "that we should wait for Tom before we make a decision about anything." They all took Nero's response and conceded, waiting until Tom had shimmied next to Harry to start any conversation. Then they watched, owl-eyed, making Tom severely uncomfortable.

"…What?" he said self-consciously, tugging his cloak more firmly around his body.

"Well?" said one of them spontaneously. They didn't really know who.

"Well what-?" Tom snapped, more out of aggravation than anything.

"Since everyone here except Harry knows the story of the curse—what do you think? Should Caspar tell Harry it, or leave it up to someone else to fill in the blanks?" spoke-up Abraxas, not caring if Harry glared at him for his candor.

Tom appeared apprehensive. "If it gets you gits off my back, I'll have to say that Caspar should tell the story."

"Traitor," muttered Abraxas, frowning. Nero prodded the blond in the chest and declared, that he was, for a surety, pouting. Everyone else just stared again, eyebrows raised, awaiting the imminent argument that was about to commence.

"You must be kidding me," scoffed the Malfoy. Point One to Blondie.

"No, I'm not," said Nero calmly. "You're pouting, so just accept it as such." Negative point for blondie.

"No I'm not," Abraxas denied firmly. He demonstrated by pointing at his lips and deepening the so-called 'pout'. "See? Frowning, not pouting. Malfoys do not pout. I'm not even sure if Malfoys have the ability to!" Double negative.

"But _you_ do," Nero countered. Ten points for his obvious observation!

"_No _I don't," Abraxas repeated, eyes growing into slits. Well into the negative points Abraxas…

Whilst the two squabbled, Tom, Alphard, Caspar, and Harry all silently agreed to tell the story, even if the two weren't listening at all.

"Well it starts off something like this…" said Caspar in a mystical voice, but the other three were a bit too 'busy' talking over him. ("It's not as if they'd notice, Alphard."

"No, no, you're quite right, Tom. Just…make sure Harry comes off unscathed in all of this. You know how those two are."

"What?"

"Harry, what Alphard means is that they throw hexes and curses like no tomorrow. They know more than they should, actually."

"Oh…"

"Yes, 'oh'."

"So…Should I be a'fered?"

"You mean afraid? P'rhaps. Just duck if you see them lifting their wands. But I'm _sure _their curses won't hurt _that much_."

"Are you forgetting what happened to the second year Hufflepuff that got between those two?"

"Oh yeah. That girl. Ugh, her limbs were jelly for a month!"

"…I feel… concerned for my welfare, Tom. I really do.")

"If you guys are done talking over my head," said Caspar, in as much of a dry tone as someone like he could muster (and it wasn't much), "I'd like to tell the story."

"Sorry," they all (even Abraxas and Nero) chorused unapologetically. Caspar huffed, wrinkling his nose. He said,

"Okay…well, there was this girl once upon a time…"

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"_Long ago, when Hogwarts was just into its first decade, a witch and another witch fell in love…"_

"Rose, Rose!" A cheery-faced witch ran breathlessly to a charcoal-eyed one, her smile causing the other witch to falter in her steps. Rose straightened her long black skirt before facing her friend, Hapy. The dark haired girl threw her arms around Rose and giggled some, cheeks reddening with obvious pleasure. Rose's eyes, on their own accord, had curved whilst returning the enthusiastic embrace.

"Hey Hapy, how are you?" she said, arms dropping to her sides once again.

Hapy, as was her namesake, was always happy. There never was a day that anyone in Hogwarts saw her sad, angry or depressed. They thought it was impossible for the ever-cheerful girl, and no one was the wiser…

Hapy beamed, placing her hands onto her hips. "Well, happy as always!" she chirped. But inwardly, she wasn't. No one knew, because she never let them. What a funny way to die inside, her mind murmured inside, the smile she sported now hurting her face.

"Maybe." Rose shrugged, then faced the Lake once more.

Eye-contact was the problem in this situation for the two girls. Every so often, their eyes would meet. Since Hapy was more unabashed than Rose, the brown haired girl would look away first. It was their little game that never had an official winner. Though they wish it did, so they'd have the ability to go their merry ways, forgetting about each other. But that would be impossible for them. They were already knee-deep in something intangible.

"So, Rose-?"

"Yes?"

"Have you felt something for someone that you shouldn't be feeling?"

"Like?" asked Rose, confused.

"Love." Hapy turned to face the Lake too, hands tucked primly into her long, flowing sleeves. Her blue eyes scanned the shimmering depths, wordlessly urging Rose to understand what she was implying.

"Why would it be so wrong to feel that way to someone? I mean, they'd obvious be a male…"

"What if it isn't?"

Uncomfortable, Rose gave Hapy a perplexed glance. "I…don't know what you mean," she confessed.

"What if I liked another girl-?" Hapy said listlessly, suddenly squatting down onto the damp ground, chin propped onto her arms.

"Then it'd be none of my business," said Rose promptly, cheeks coloring a bit. A pit was developing in her stomach, as well as numerous butterflies. What was her best friend talking about? She wondered.

"It is, because the girl I like is you," said Hapy sadly.

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After that confession, the two girls had taken to avoiding each other for months. By early January, they had developed guilty consciences. Why were two friends, from early childhood, eluding the other with such skill? Why not confront each other and forget about everything? Well, the latter was thought by Rose, but she inwardly knew that Hapy couldn't forget.

It was impossible to forget a love.

She wrote a note to Hapy, and a day later, they both met at the cliff that was tipped outwards into the Lake. It was like those three months ago, when Hapy had told of her feelings.

In a roundabout way, this was their way of coping with things.

"Hey Hapy."

"Hey," the sable-haired girl said dejectedly. For the few months that they hadn't seen each other, Rose realized how wraith-like Hapy appeared. The hollows of her cheekbones looked gaunter than ever before, and her sparkling blue eyes had dimmed to a chipped blue. Spindly fingers had wound themselves into fists, and thin arms had crossed.

"I…I'm sorry for running before."

"I know."

"But, I. Well, what I mean to say is…"

"You hate me, don't you," Hapy said lowly, jolting Rose out of her own moody thoughts.

"What!" the girl cried out. "No, I don't! Why should I? I mean, that incident shouldn't come between our friendship!"

"So you don't hate me," Hapy looked immensely better.

"Yeah, I don't." There was a pause, then Rose's lips grew into a lopsided grin. "The few months gave me a long time to think, you know. About us. About…myself." Twisting a lock of hair around a finger, Rose added softly, "I came to realize that I cared a lot for you too."

They both locked eyes with the other, blue meeting charcoal.

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It was a happy time for them thereon. When the school year ended, since they lived in different countries, Hapy in England, and Rose in Scotland, they decided to send letters every month.

Days passed, months too, until it was time for school. Nothing spectacular happened to either one of them during the summer break. Their reunion was happy, and filled with smiles and laughter.

"Mary," prodded one of the Ravenclaw girls, Anya. She was a hawk-nosed, brown eyed girl. Quick and intelligent, she was one of the smartest girls in her sixth year.

"What, Anya?" said Mary, a rosy, black haired Hufflepuff. "Don't tell me you have _more _gossip." She gently patted her puff-sleeved gown and raised a brow.

Anya huffed.

"Well, this is a good one, for a surety!" said Anya. "I heard that Rose and Hapy are together."

"Two girls?" Mary wrinkled her nose. "Isn't that—well, immoral?"

"Yes, yes…"

And so the gossip began.

Voices followed the two girls whenever they walked together to their classes. Sniggers and heated eyes glared at them everywhere, and even the professors were hard-pressed to do something about them. However, they couldn't staunch the hate-filled words that stalked the poor girls.

It got so bad that their Headmaster, Amundsen gave them their own rooms. With a grave face, he advised both Rose and Hapy to not wonder the corridors after-hours. The two knew what he meant. _For your protection, girls._

Again, they met at the cliff overlooking the Lake. It was a dark day. The clouds overhead had transformed into shapeless dull masses, and the sky was an angry gray. Their silhouettes were outlined by the slap of thunder on the horizon. Blue and charcoal met once again and they smiled.

"Hapy."

"Rose."

They greeted each other, their hands entwined.

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"And then they threw themselves into the Lake. Some say they turned into these Harpy statues, but others say that their ghosts still linger on this cliff, waiting for the time they both could reach Nirvana."

"They couldn't be together," broke-in Alphard's deep voice, his cobalt eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together in thought. "In those days, same-sex pairings were looked down upon, because the wizarding population was decreasing due to the witch hunts. Muggles had, in those times, decided to kill off people that showed any signs of magical powers, which was why in the second Revolution, we wizards and witches begun to seclude ourselves from Muggle society."

The boys looked outward into the shining surface of the Lake and Harry broke the oppressive silence by saying, "That's… really sad."

And it was, but the others didn't want to say it. Nero and Abraxas both had their own opinions about stupid romances, but they kept that to themselves, as always.

"Oh come off it!" giggled the pretty statue near them, fluttering her long lashes. "Everything about life is sad!"

"That's true, Janie-dear!" crowed the tall, stately one, giggling. "Just look at us."

Everyone did, then winced at the provocative poses the two struck. "Are you one of those men out on the streets, looking for a good time?" said the tall Harpy Statue seriously to Tom, though her slate eyes flashed somewhat malevolently.

Tom started. "Uh…no," he said slowly.

"Good!" she brightened considerably after that answer.

They didn't want to ask what the Harpies would've done if Tom had answered in the positive.

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**A/N: **Once again, I apologize for the late chapter. xD I'll try my best to update…eurm, well, sometime.


	7. D for the Difficulties in Life

_**DISCLAIM IT**_: No. Just no. I don't own the crappy HP series (damn you to Hell, JKR, for making such an awful 7th book!) Btw. I burned it, and danced around the flames. _BECAUSE _Ihateher&thebook. It was horrible. And thus, I have renamed JKR to KJR – _Kill Joy Rowling. _ Yes, I am mean, mwhahahaha! Everyone, spread the word of KJR around!

**Chapter Title**: D for the difficulties in life

**Chapter Rating**: T

**A/N**: _Sorry. _I had exams again. Fucking exams. Always exams, but I did.

**Warning(s)**: Miele Caton's (Nero's uncle's) POV in this beginning of the chapter, mwhaha.

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The professors of Hogwarts all sat around a summoned table, in the middle of Armando Dippet's magnificent (although somewhat dusty) office. Their facial expressions ranged from disbelieving, to utter bemusement as they read the papers propped out in front of them.

"I think," said Miele Caton slowly, trying to think of a way to disagree with his fellow cohorts—I mean, staff members. "Caspar wouldn't want to take the role." He knew he wouldn't. Not even if his life depended on it.

"But with Messeur Black as 'is leading man, I am not too sure he would oppose to the idea!" Jacques sent a dazzling smile to Miele that made his knees weak. He strengthened his resolve with a grim set to his face, not caring if the other frowned.

"You all right there, Miele? You look a little flushed," Jacques said, concerned. His handsome features were immersed in a particularly inflective look, and Miele smiled weakly.

"No, no. I'm fine, don't worry about me."

But honestly, Miele's thoughts whorled chaotically, as he pushed his mind further and further away from the proverbial gutter. Damn his wobbling knees! And damn Jacques for doing the things he did! He would not fall prey to the male veela's charm! It wouldn't be appropriate! And what would Nero think?

"_Dating a Veela? And a male one at that?" Nero's lips would turn upwards in real amusement and disdain. "I didn't know you had it in you, Uncle."_

And somehow, Miele knew that his nephew would never let him live it down.

"Then again, from what I gather…" Jacques' eyebrows knitted, breaking Miele's train of thought. "I think he would greatly oppose to wearing a dress anytime soon."

Miele squinted, trying to think of a better phrase. He couldn't think of one, so he lifted one shoulder up, then down. There, that was a better statement than any!

"Seeing as though he has to wear one…_again_," rumbled Aiken next to Jacques, wrapping his arms loosely around his smooth, taut stomach. The Native American looked vaguely disturbed at the prospect of seeing his student cross-dress.

"I know he…" Aiken left off at a high-pitch in his voice, then steadfastly said, "—_dressed _as a woman in the last Halloween play, but I did not know he'd need to dress as a woman…again." His face twisted, and Miele tried not to let his laugh out. Aiken's visage made it look as though he was constipated, and perhaps he was?

Miele chose not to let his mind wander that far.

"Oh, well, you know, the trivialities of life," piped up Dumbledore, calmly sipping his herbal tea. His blue eyes twinkled. "Although I can't wait to take pictures of this momentous occasion!" The old coot subtlety rubbed his hands together. "I'll paste them all over the school boards, or maybe even submit some to Witch Weekly! I'm sure they'd be happy to accept them!"

All teachers sighed at that, even Armando, who rolled his eyes in an uncharacteristic display of vexation.

_Dumbledore_, their thoughts echoed. Always the meddlesome coot.

Miele coughed. "But what about _the dress_?!" he protested, weakly pointing a rubbery hand at the…frilly, and definitely revealing corset. It had intricate black lacing, delicately sown into the dark _pink _fabric of the waist (to be tied to whichever length), and long, flowing transparent cloth draped all the way to the floor. The cloth was meant to cover _most _of the lower body, but who was the maker of the corset kidding?! It would _just barely _cover the important bits.

And by just barely, Miele could swear he'd see a nice sliver of soft thighs if he stared hard enough!

At any rate, the maker even sent complimentary accessories: a dark, spiked collar, fishnet stockings, and equally suggestive makeup.

To everyone asides from Dumbledore and Armando (they both really thought it was funny, the old geezers); the much younger and less ancient professors thought it was _wanton. _And yes, it wasn't the nice wanton. It was the wanton with the wild abandon that rubbed you in all the right places.

Burgundy tried to cover his eyes from the horrible sight.

"Don't let me watch the play," he moaned. "I can't believe I even _assisted _in writing the script!"

"Hey, me too!" Miele exclaimed vehemently, face screwing up in (not that much) disgust. "I thought it was going to be for a _female _part!" He didn't really mind it, but…he had to put up a façade, right? It would make him look bad if he just sat down in his seat, sipping his tea calmly! The other professors would probably give him numerous glares that would give him nightmares. Brr. He already had a hard time sleeping at night, due to the dream jinx Nero cast on him last class. Yeah, he had a wonderful family life.

"It was revenge for peeping on my friends," the dark boy had said, smirking.

Somehow, Miele doubted it was only that.

Anyway, seconds later, both Dumbledore and Armando suddenly looked very serious.

"Do you really want to see the consequences of those actions?" Armando spoke up, adjusting his extremely large glasses. Good thing they magnified his eyes, or else no one would actually pay attention to the old geezer—I mean, _very respectable_ Headmaster.

Dumbledore also gave his two cents. "Do you want to see the poor girl harassed all over Hogwarts by Caspar?" he demanded. "Do you want to see _any _girl harassed by that wonderful troupe of his? Or the worse case scenario," Dumbledore's voice lowered tremendously, "Alphard would complain, and _then _send his beloved parents a letter."

Yes, a letter.

Everyone had to shudder, as they imagined the livid faces of Alphard's parents. Madam Black would swoop down from her perch and kill them all with curses from days of yonder. And Patriarch Black would probably revive their dead bodies, and then throw them into a raging river, just to relive the moment.

They really didn't think they had much of a choice here.

"You all know the _wonderful _Blackswould come and then _complain _to us, and it'd be the Second Revolution all over again!" the old man thundered, making half the professors jump out of their seats in fright. Minus Madam Swithin, who sat stone still, her expression not giving anything away. Lucky nurse.

There was a tense silence for a moment.

Then a tentative hand raised.

"Yes, m'boy?" Armando and Dumbledore raised their eyebrows. Wonderful, Miele thought. Twins that weren't even born at the same time. Just what they needed during strife.

"Is there, by any chance, a way to back out of this whole production?" Burgundy spoke timidly, eyes darting to the stairway.

Again, there was silence, and most pondered on what they would do if the school's population heard of their machinations. They all decided they'd kill themselves. Of course, in the least gruesome and least painful-est way! They weren't _that _dumb after all.

Armando struggled to answer the question, and eventually, Fawkes did the honors.

The phoenix trilled some, then looked smug enough to dash the hope off from each professor's mind.

_.No._

Miele fell off his chair, while Aiken's face contorted. Jacques began to stifle his chuckles, and Burgundy knocked his head onto the surface of the desk. And this all happened in the matter of a few seconds.

"Damn," Miele cursed loudly.

And just then, Miele wished he could spontaneously combust. Like those famous Japanese heroes did in the knick of time. He spared a quick glance at Jacques, then sighed to himself. If only it were so.

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"You."

A finger pointed straight at his nose, disrupting Tom from his reading. He glared at the offending appendage that waggled in his vision.

"What?"

Caspar looked angry, if the flush to his cheeks and the twitch in his brow was any indication. Tom had a feeling that if he did something that rubbed Caspar in the wrong way…well then, he wouldn't live to see the prime of his youth.

"Did you know about this?" Caspar thrust a large flyer into his hands, and instantly, Tom's eyes widened.

"A Halloween play?"

"You got it. Now read the blasted thing."

Tom did as he was told, then choked.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm not, unfortunately."

"Then why are you cast as the female lead?" Tom imagined Caspar in a fluffy white dress. It didn't look so bad. But in a _corset_? He gagged. Now that was just wrong.

"I. Don't. _Know_," Caspar seethed, pulling the flyer out of his hands and tearing it into pieces. "And whoever cast me as the part is _so _going to die. I'll make sure of it."

Tom's eyebrows elevated.

"Did you even see who the male lead was?"

"No! Of course not!" Caspar said. A frustrated look passed his face, and he pursed his lips. "It's not some mangy Huffledump, right? Or worse yet, a Gryffindor?" Caspar looked at Tom seriously, and Tom fought to wipe the smirk off his face.

"R-_ight_," Tom answered, grinning in what he hoped to be a 'not so obvious' way. "It's Alphard."

"..."

"..."

The two stared at each other, before Caspar collapsed onto Tom's knees and wailed.

"I don't want to be a woman!"

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry asked, Nero and Abraxas following closely behind him. The three wizards entered their common room, pondering whether or not to go back to their classes. After all, they had nothing to do with the crazies. _Absolutely nothing. _

"No," snapped Caspar, tears in his brown eyes. "I just have to play as a woman, in a stupid play the Professors thought up, the bloody sadists."

"Oh," they all said simultaneously. Like they cared.

"So, who's the leading man?" asked Abraxas, all blasé. "I hope it's not some Hufflepuff. That'd be wrong on so many accounts." He snuggled onto Nero's prone form, and the dark boy grunted, trying to push the blond off him.

"Could you _geroff_ me? Do you even know how heavy you are?" Nero struggled to sit up, but Abraxas would have none of it.

"Yeah," the Malfoy drawled. "But I like it here, so I think I best stay. You know, for the equality of all wizard-kind." He snuggled deeper into Nero's body, and the Snape heir scowled.

"Twat."

"Priss."

"Girly-boy."

"Oh go bugger your Uncle."

"Go bugger your elder brother."

"Oh, just fuck you," spat Abraxas, silver eyes burning. Everyone knew how he felt about Adelaide, who was totally crazy. And not for any good reason too.

"I'm quite sorry, but we haven't even been on a first date yet!" said Nero, chuckling at Abraxas' incensed look. ("Do you think that they'd go bugger each other instead? The sexual tension is sort of distracting, you know."

"I agree, but what can we do? Push them in a closet and ohhh—"

"Yes, I think that's a great way to get things done, Tom. Great things to get things done."

"I prefer it if you didn't drag me into your conniving schemes, Harry…"

"Sorry, but I can't help it. Those two are getting on my nerves.")

Suddenly, Harry put his hands up, interrupting another possible duel. And to think the two just had one a few hours ago. Couldn't they keep their hands off each other? "Could you guys just _please _stop flirting? Caspar is having a dilemma, and you know how things are—if Caspar's having a dilemma, then Alphard'll waltz in, have a tantrum, and kill us all by boring us to death with his true love speech!"

"We are not flirting! And do we really care if Alphard'll see the flyer?" Abraxas appeared thoughtful for a moment, then threw a cushion at Harry, who was lucky enough to duck in time. "He will eventually see it, one way or another you know. And for your information Ashcroft, _no_ we don't give a rat's arse! All we know is that Caspar is having an identity crisis and that Nero is acting like a total _arse_."

"Oh shut up," muttered Nero, still beaneath Abraxas' lithe body and squirming like a wiggly worm. "I'd stop being such an _arse _if you got off me."

"But Nero," mocked Abraxas, teasingly running slim white hands up and down the dark haired boy's sides. "We've never been on a first date yet!"

"Merlin damn it all, you lot are annoying me," spoke up Tom, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And where the bloody hell is Alphard? He promised he'd be up early, so I could tutor him in time for your History of Magics exam!"

"And what about me being a woman?!" Caspar began to bawl. "What would Alphard think of me?"

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"Hey Alphard?"

"What is it, Hotz?" The two boys breathed in deeply, Abel's face buried into Alphard's warm shoulder. Alphard's belt was uncomfortably digging into Abel's stomach, but he could really care less at the time. He was too busy breathing in Alphard's scent. Yummy.

"Do you—do you think we could do this sometime again?" the Gryffindor whispered. "I really liked it—I mean, you know…with all the squirming and stuff…"

"What? You can't seriously mean to do it again?!" Alphard looked vaguely horrified. "I can't! I don't have enough stamina for it!"

"You mean, you can't conjure up another of these spiffy floating sheep?" Abel asked, confused. He pushed away from Alphard and his eyebrows rose with skepticism. "You're good with Charms, and you're telling me that you _can't_?"

"Well," Alphard flushed. "It's just because I'm…well…"

"Going somewhere. Ah, I see."

They were quiet, then Alphard shuffled his feet. "Sorry, Hotz, but I really have to go." He looked mournfully at the saddened Gryffindor.

"No, don't worry, I understand."

The two stared at each other, then clasped their hands.

"Eternal rivals!" they both proclaimed, starry-eyed. A beautiful ocean scene was playing behind them, and the waning sunset light ("How the hell did it get here?" "I don't know, but who cares!") managed to give them the right lighting. They looked like two star-crossed lovers, out on a romantic date.

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How utterly moronic, was Harry's first thought.

"And that was what you were doing the whole time?" Tom asked, eye twitching in tandem to the clock. He didn't know whether to strangle Alphard here and now, or to strangle him in the vicinity of their dorm.

"Yeah!" Alphard nodded. He was seemingly undisturbed at the fact that Tom shot him a glare that was meant to flambé him alive. Yes, Tom decided. He'd choose the latter choice: _death_.

"All right then, I believe you," Tom said through gritted teeth, humoring the poor Black.

"That's great!" Alphard beamed, and he then left the two alone, making his way to Nero and Abraxas, who were again, fighting.

Harry had to shake his head. "I can't believe you," he whispered to Tom, as they ascended the stairway to their dorms. "He was obviously not with Hotz, or else he'd have a black eye by now. You know how those two are."

And indeed Tom did.

Abel and Alphard were like oil to water. They just couldn't get along. Whenever they saw each other, they'd bicker until fists flew and curses swept out of their mouths. It was a wonder that Alphard had ever created such a story.

"Oh no, I believe him," Tom smiled mysteriously. "He's not that bright. He'd never lie, so his excuse is probably the truth."

Harry could only sigh. "Right."

He didn't have the heart to doubt Tom.

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"No, no, no, no, _no_!" shouted Professor Burgundy (good Merlin, the sickly man was the director of the entire production) waving his arms around frantically. "Put more feeling into it, Caspar! You can't just—_no _don't hold your dress like that!" He righted the poor auburn-haired male and beamed. "There, now stand still and wait for it—wait for it—_now!_"

Caspar sighed, then stiffened at Burgundy's glare. He weakly adjusted his facial expression to that of utter reserve. Like on the damned script. "Milord Harrow," he said sweetly, though inwardly he was disgusted. Damnit, he was cold! And damnit, why did he have to wear the corset? "What perhaps, may I get you in our lovely Inn?" he almost spat, but held himself back in time whenn Burgundy held his wand higher in the air.

Yeah. He had to play a barmaid. Could life get _any _better?

Just then, as was his cue, Alphard smiled winsomely. His long, shining black hair was tied up in an elegant ponytail, and cobalt-blue eyes shined in an appealing manner. If Caspar wasn't totally sure of his morals, he'd jump the Black right there and then.

"A room of any quality, that it be," he drawled in a manner akin to those wandering nobles. Caspar checked to see if he wasn't drooling, and satisfied, nodded to Alphard.

"Aye, that I can get y—eeouccchh!" Caspar yelled, eyes watering as he sucked on his thumb. It had gotten pricked by those thrice-damned safety needles. Since he refused to wear the tight ribbons that came along with the corset ("Really sir, is it a necessity to wear it for a rehearsal--" "YES, now get in the blasted dress, Crouch!" "Y-yessir!"), Professor Burgundy had been forced to improvise. Hence the safety pins that went down his sides.

Alphard was instantly at his side, looking over him worriedly. The Black took his hand in his own, much larger and infinitely warm palm, and inspected it. "I think we'll need a bandage for this," he stated. Oh gee, was it the obvious too. Sometimes, Caspar ignored Alphard's incredible IQ. These weren't one of those times.

"You think?" Harry spoke dryly, from his place on the floor. He was Alphard's slave boy, and he was actually supposed to be cleaning the mortar floors of the Astronomy Tower (not). But since they were just 'rehearsing' Harry didn't need to put some vigor in his movements.

And why the hell they were even doing a rehearsal up here, was a wonder to even Dumbledore, who was at the edges of the Tower, dangling his bony old legs down below. The old coot was currently thinking of a great lemon tea to warm his brittle bones. Yes, _tea. _Currently casted as the court's magician (who would of thunk it?), Dumbledore had a role that was both mysterious and aggravating at the same time. No really. Who would use the line "yea must not tread the path to righteousness, but treat thine own path of atonement" in a play like this? Damn cryptic bullshit if Harry thought so himself.

He glared over his shoulder at the rest of his so-called 'friends'. They were sitting on a conjured couch, looking quite comfy.

Nero, Abraxas, and Tom were lucky—they had been casted as the evil relatives of Sir Archibald the First. Duke of Phree (Nero), Baron Landover (Abraxas), and Lord Tohmas Guiles (Tom) were to be the antagonist to Alphard and Caspar's protagonist. Though they were a minor role, they had a lot of stage time.

To get the gist of things, the play revolved around the forbidden romance between a barmaid Jan (pronounced with a 'y' and that was Caspar) and Lord Jamison (Alphard).

Yes, Harry got the short end of the stick.

"Stop being such a downer, Harry!" called out Abraxas, sending him a thumbs-up sign. "I'm sure your floor'll shine its way through!" The blond sniggered at his bad pun, and was promptly nudged in the ribs by Tom.

Their headboy smiled handsomely to Harry. "Don't listen to this jealous bugger, Harry! I'm sure that he'd love to be wiping the floor if it was for Nero!" Abraxas' eyes goggled, and Harry laughed out loud at the blond's reaction.

"Shut it, you ninny!" he hissed, even as Nero, who sat beside him chuckled. He then proceeded to sulk, going so far as to nuzzle into Tom's shoulder. Sadly for Abraxas, at that moment, Nero chose to gare daggers at Tom. The blond was so dense not to realize that the sable-haired boy was jealous. Very jealous.

Harry rolled his eyes at their antics, and pretended to wipe the floor with his rag.

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**A/N**: Yes, next chapter'll be the play. It'll be sort of hard, seeing as though Caspar would have to play as a female. So I have to make the words, "He did" instead of "She did". Just  
because I'm asshole like that. xD

And sorry for it being so short!

**And as per a reviewer's request, I changed some wording and added a few things here and there. Hope you don't notice the corrections (or lack thereof.)**


	8. D is for the forthcoming Doom

**DISCLAIM IT**: Nope. Don't own. Don't sue.

**Chapter Rating: T **

**Chapter Title: **D is for the forthcoming Doom

A/N: Sorry for not updating all this time. :[ I'm in my last year of HS, and I have to take entrance exams for college. Life's a bitch, damnit.

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"Okay Hagrid, one step at a time," soothed Professor Burgundy, trying to get the large and uncomfortable boy onto the dark stage. "Just step through the red curtain and you won't hurt a soul—oh bloody Merlin, get off that pole!" the sickly man suddenly thundered, a hair graying in the morning light.

"I won't be doin' so, sir, if you dunna' mind me sayin' tha'!"

Hagrid was currently hugging the hell out of a pole, conveniently placed nearby. He—truthfully—didn't want to go anywhere near that place. It was sort of weird. And not to mention intimidating. Besides, what kind of half-giant in their right mind, would want to go up on stage—in a _sheep _costume nonetheless?

He surely didn't!

But honestly, at first, Hagrid hadn't complained.

That was until he took a good, and _long _look at his costume. Then he wanted to sink into the ground, onto a disgusting pile of dragon dung, and wish his problem away.

"Hagrid, get your half-giant _arse _on the stage!" Burgundy had already looked frazzled before, but now, he looked utterly livid (and not to mention exhausted). The older man stomped his foot onto the floor like a child without his toy, and pointed to him, shouting, "We _need _a sheep, and without a _sheep _this whole production will be _shot_down!"

"But sir," said our friendly half-giant, dislodging himself from the pole. His whole countenance was reverently outputted and he held his hands up in a pleading manner, "I dunna' see why I have ter do this! It's undignified an' I think tha' the costume is givin' me a rash an—"

A booklet of notes was thrown into his face.

"I don't care if you develop the world's largest wizard bump, Hagrid! Just say your blasted lines and you'll be off the stage in a moment!" Professor Burgundy was breathing hard, and the thin vein on his forehead had doubled to that of a thick purple line. He was a terrible sight to behold.

Hagrid sighed.

"All righ' sir, whatever you be sayin' then." Reluctantly, and certainly with a touch of trepidation and resoluteness, Hagrid hobbled to the stage in his costume, his sheep feet making loud, tappering sounds on the ground as he walked.

_Tap, tap, tap._

It was utterly silent.

Then Hagrid opened his mouth---and closed it.

More silence.

Then he breathed in and tried again.

"Baaa, sir. Please come out baa," he said.

And then, laughter rung out throughout the whole Astronomy Tower.

"Hahaha! Dear Merlin, that was hilarious! Make him do it again!" shouted a third year Hufflepuff, tears streaming down his face. His name was Jeremiah Jones. An ultimately irritating boy with bright green eyes, and he was quite the jokester to boot.

"Aha—hahahahah!!" laughed another boy, tossing his golden curls to one side so they couldn't land into his face. Now this boy was Anthony Scarlet, and he was a pretty boy, with a penchant for _disasturrr_.

Hagrid tried not to burst into tears.

After the initial laughter from his school mates, they calmed down, and eventually their laughs faded into soft sniggers. And the soft sniggers, into chuckles.

Embarrassedly waiting for Alphard to come out, Hagrid shifted his foot left to right, feeling quite antsy. His feet hurt from the awful fitting hooves he had been given. He wondered if his feet would smell bad when he took them off…

At long last, the handsome Black strode onto the stage, in his fine, silk raiment and a sly smile touching his generous lips. Alphard stared down at where Harry was pretending to grovel and imperiously queried, "Prithee, where art the next inn, servant boy?"

This was Hagrid's cue to get off stage.

With irrelevant haste, Hagrid scrambled off the dim theatre like opera house, and breathed a sigh of relief. Finally. His work here was done.

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"I think this will be an utter faaaaailure," moaned Burgundy into his hands, head bowed down onto the table. Four other teachers (Aiken, Jacques, Miele, and Dumbledore) were idly sitting on their own seats; Dumbledore solving some perplexing word puzzle, Aiken, meditating, and Jacques and Miele having a staring contest. Slughorn was uncharacteristically quiet (he was usually boasting about some student or another, being quite the busy body), and the rest of the teachers were bored stiff in their chairs.

All very usual.

"That was a given," Aiken muttered in a low voice.

As usual.

Then of course, was the buzzing of the tempus charm that alerted everyone of their imminent doom. Also known as the 'weekly staff meeting'. All they really did was argue over some pointless topic, point fingers at each other like true philosophical geniuses, and complain about their students.

Again, all very usual.

At exactly five o'clock pm, Armando Dippet (being the perfectionist he was) swept in, huge eyes taking in his staffs' total un-professionalism. His ancient mouth twisted, and his old eyes narrowed, and worst of all, his gnarled hands clenched. The old man was furious (because he had lost his recipe for making the _best_lemon squares this side of Scotland.) The recipe was later to be found, in the vicinity of Dippet's private quarters. The senile headmaster hadn't bothered to apologize for his natural reaction to his missing instructions.

And let this be reiterated once more: it was all very usual, since Dippet lost his marbles—I mean, _recipe _every midmorning.

"You!" Dippet barked and pointed rudely to Burgundy, who looked as if he were sleeping, but in reality, he wasn't at all. He was just closing his eyes for a few minutes and liking the feel of his eyelids. Really!!

"Why aren't you finishing off the play?" the ancient Headmaster bit out, getting his poor, and very tired behind on his specially made chair. Yes, he had to get the best of things. And besides, his weary bones couldn't take any more of the standing.

Burgundy instantly bolted straight up, gray hair frizzing on end, as if static electricity were applied to it, giving him a very crazy Einstein look. Which wasn't pretty. Not at all. The sickly man appeared to be at wits end and he groaned into his hands once more. "_Nooo_oooo. Not those children! Anything but them! Don't make me go back! They're horrible people I tell you, _horrible_!"

"I take it that it hasn't been well," Jacques quipped, and Burgundy quickly shot the French Veela his patent glare.

"I've been talking to you for more than half an hour, and you haven't even been listening to me?!" Burgundy looked half-ready to murder the handsome man himself.

"Eurm, if it's any consolation—I apologize?" Jacques tried to appear sheepish.

"I'LL KILL HIM, I SWEAR I WILL!" Burgundy was already leaping through the air, mere centimeters away from the veela, when he was abruptly stopped by Miele, who had taken his ankle and pulled him away with surprising force.

This had resulted in their weekly scuffle.

Dumbledore, in the heat of the moment (and just for fun might one add), jumped into the fray and began to yell like a deranged madman. He had actually ripped off his teddy bear robes (no kidding) and wore a militia uniform, a pistol in his right hand. How he got that was a mystery to anyone/

From there, all hell broke loose, and all Armando could do was bellow for them to stop ruining his room, all the while sitting in his chair comfortably. The only ones sitting calmly in their seats were Aiken, Slughorn, and Flitwick. They didn't seem to care one bit at everyone's semantics.

"Some more tea, Flitwick?" Slughorn asked mildly, his moustache quivering as he suppressed his irate sigh. His co-workers were twinks. The lot of them should've been locked up in St. Mungo's a long time ago.

"That'd be terribly generous, just terribly," replied Flitwick, nodding.

And that was how the teachers meeting always resulted in: a black eye or two.

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"Now Harry, give me a break here," whined Nero, sitting (in)conspicuously close to Abraxas' thighs. At this point in time, I'd like to remind you readers that a) Nero didn't really like Abraxas, he was just a convenient heater. And if anyone else thought otherwise, it was safe to assume that Nero would _deny, deny, deny_; b) Harry was tutoring Nero in niceties; and c) Harry didn't know quite why that he agreed to it in the first place.

"Nero," Harry grumbled out, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking quite reminiscent of Tom. "All I asked of you was to _smile_—is that so bloody hard?"

The Snape heir seemed immensely sullen. "Of course it is!" argued Nero, nodding. "As a pureblood and an heir to a vast fortune, there are strict rules of conduct that I was instilled with at birth!"

"And one of those were to _not smile-_?" questioned Harry, eyebrows elevated.

Nero sputtered. "No—I, well, you see—_argh!_" he yelled out, frustrated. "I just don't know how to smile correctly, all right? I've tried before, and I only scared off the first and second years!"

Abraxas could only roll his eyes at that statement.

"You scared off the_whole_ Hufflepuff table," the flaxen-haired youth added drolly, earning a punch in the arm. "_Ouch! _You git, what was that for?"

"For being a prick," was the smug reply.

"Why I oughta—"

Harry quickly put himself between the two sexually frustrated prats. "Okay, stop it, just stop it you two! If I have to do this one more time, I _will_tell Tom." And that was a fact. Okay, well, Harry generally hated having to use Tom's name as a basic command and incentive for anyone to listen to him, but this time he had to. Just had to. _Sorry Tom_, he thought.

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Somewhere in Charms class, their handsome Headboy sneezed.

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"So, where were we?" beamed Harry, immediately forgetting the earlier situation. His attention span was sadly short, due to an earlier Potions explosion from last class. _Cough_. Alphard hadn't really meant to put sixteen beatle's eyes in their Potion, really. It was just a natural reaction to watching Caspar bend over to retrieve a fallen parchment.

Both Nero and Abraxas looked mildly disturbed at Harry's abrupt mood swing.

Bipolar much?

"You were getting this—" Abraxas pointed a rude finger to the irate Snape heir, "—person to smile."

"Ah, right, right!" Harry cheered. "Well, aren't you going to do it?" he asked Nero pointedly, after getting tired of watching the dark haired boy do nothing but twitch. The obsidian-eyed heir grumbled something under his breath, but stilled at the glower he received from Harry. His friend was one scary bugger when he wanted to be.

"Just so you know," Nero said testily, lips pulled into a tight line, "It's not going to be my fault that something bad happens."

"That's quite all right," soothed Harry. "Just try it—you might even like doing it!"

Suppressing the urge to strangle Harry, Nero tried to smile.

_Thump._

Abraxas peered over at the edge of the Common Room sofa. "Uhh, Harry?" spoke the Malfoy, seemingly concerned. "Are you all right?"

A second pair of eyes loomed above Abraxas. "I don't think he is," muttered Nero. "See?" he told his friend. "You should've warned him that my smile was deadly. No one _ever _listens to what I say."

"Because you're_deadly scary_," Abraxas mumbled, and luckily enough for him, Nero was too busy helping Harry onto the couch. "I don't think he should try this lesson again."

"Yes, that's right," agreed Nero, a sly expression on his face. "I think I've traumatized him too much. It's only necessary that we _forget_the rest of the lessons and skip to the best part."

A delicate brow rose. "And that is-?" Abraxas asked, disbelief in his tone.

"Oh, the sex," Nero replied simply, waiting for Abraxas' reaction.

The blond sputtered, then burst out guffawing. And this bout of laughter lasted a good forty-four minutes and sixteen seconds, as was listed by Nero's tempus charm.

And this also gave Abraxas a nice, _black _shiner to show to Madame Swithin a few minutes afterwards.

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A/N: Yeah. The next chapter is the actual play. I couldn't bear to write the whole thing this chapter. Soooo. Right. I'll get to it when I'm actually inspired to write HP, okay? Don't worry, I'm a minor slump. I'll get over it.


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